


Prophet Series

by ValenceFlame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, prophet series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValenceFlame/pseuds/ValenceFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader finds herself in the middle of God's war when she becomes the new prophet upon the old one's death. (Potential spoilers for Season 9)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a few things I had to put in here that make it a bit different from your average reader insert story. Here they are:
> 
> Age: You’re old enough to drink legally in the United States, so 21 or older. You can pretty much pick what age you are otherwise, but it’ll be really odd later on if you imagine “you” as 18 and then use your id.
> 
> Attitude/personality: Kind of is going to change depending on how I feel while I write. I’m going to try and be as consistent as possible and make the character likable with her own flaws, and I’m going to try not to make anything too specific that it would be too hard to jump into her shoes, but just be aware.
> 
> I actually think that’s pretty much it for now, I might have to throw in background with family and friends and such, but later. For now, enjoy.

You wave to your friends and turn towards home, shoving your hands in your pockets and breathing in the brisk air. It’s still a bit chilly out, it being winter and all, but the weather’s been fairly nice and not horribly cold. You pull out your phone and absentmindedly check your weather app. 54 degrees Fahrenheit. Not bad at all, kind of pleasant actually.

You flinch as your head starts to pound. It’s been doing that a lot lately, right at the front and through the temples, like a migraine but not debilitating. It started up about a week ago, and you have a doctor’s appointment about it in a few days, but for now you’ve just been popping ibuprofen like they’re candy. Probably not good for your liver but oh well, neither is anything else right?

You put your phone away and dig out your keys, briskly walking to your apartment door and unlocking it, humming softly to yourself as you walk inside and hang them on the hook. You shrug out of your sweater and let it land on your couch. Whatever, you can always grab it later, or the next time you leave the house. For now though, it’s time to shower and get ready for work.

You make your shower quick and get dressed, going through the motions you usually do. You sit on your bed to pull on your shoes and freeze when you hear…is that your front door opening? No, it can’t be.

You tug your shoe on the rest of the way and get up cautiously, walking out of the room and freezing when you see a man in the living room. You instantly shrink back into your room and grab your baseball bat. You close your eyes and count to three, forcing yourself to breathe before you turn back out of the room.

The man’s disappeared. Did you imagine it? You look around and feel a hand on your shoulder. You whip around, swinging the bat at the intruder. He grabs it, giving you a sneer.

“No, no sweetheart. We don’t like it when the lord’s servants are rude to us.”

“What the fuck are you talking about!?” you half screech half whisper. Your knees are shaking so hard you’re sure you’ll collapse soon, and he still has a hold on the bat. You let it go and run towards the door, skidding to a halt when a girl stands there. She blinks and her eyes become black. Okay, that’s not normal.

You feel the man’s hands on your arms and you’re too petrified to even scream, a little convinced they’d kill you if you did. You close your eyes, silently praying for help, for them to leave, for anything. You’re not even really religious, but if there is a God, now would be a great time for him to help you out.

You don’t even hear the man say anything, but his grip goes slack and he falls to the ground behind you. You snap your eyes open, just in time to see a newcomer killing her with just his hand. Wonderful, that just has to be good news for you. He turns to you and his gaze is gentle, and almost sad as he walks forward.

“Don’t be afraid (name), I’m here to help you,” he says, voice deep and calming. You take a step back anyway, nearly tripping over the other guy’s body.

“Okay,” you choke out, shaking like a leaf. You’re pretty sure you were almost murdered, and then this guy just appears…no you’ve gotta be dreaming. Anytime now you’ll wake up and be late for work.

He gently takes your hand, “I have to take you away from here, you aren’t safe.”

“What? No!” you say, jerking your hand back, chest heaving for air, “I don’t want to go with you, I don’t even know who you are!”

“Demons will keep coming for you, now that they know where you are,” he explains, taking a step forward.

“Demons?” you whisper, backing up and over the body on your living room carpet, “Those…those aren’t real.”

“They are real, as are angels,” he says, same calm voice, “My name’s Castiel, I’m an angel of the lord.”

“Prove it!” you say, not really sure how you expect him to do that, but you can’t think of anything else to say.

“Come with me, we’ll fly away,” he says, challenging you. You look down at his hand and at the demons, considering it. You take another step back and you hear the glass from your bedroom window break. You choke on your oxygen as Castiel grabs you and takes off. You open your eyes and find yourself in the library of somewhere else. There’s no demons here…yet.

“Where are we?” you ask, looking up at him, still clutching to his trench coat.

“Kansas,” he tells you, “Lebanon to be exact.”

“Why?” you ask next, stepping away from him, remembering you don’t exactly trust him yet.

“Because I needed to take you somewhere safe so I could explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Who’s this?”

You turn around, ready to run if you have to. Two men walk down into the room, looking at you curiously. They don’t look like they want to hurt you, but you can’t really be too sure.

“The new prophet,” Castiel says easily, putting a hand on your shoulder. The taller man frowns when you flinch visibly.

“Cas, you’re scaring her,” he chastises, sitting down a reasonable distance from you. The other man sits with him.

“New prophet, huh?” he asks, pain lacing his voice. Oh God, what happened to the old prophet? Wait, prophet?

“I’m a prophet?” you ask Castiel, looking up at him.

“You’re the prophet of the Lord.”

“No…that doesn’t sound right,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief, “I don’t even go to church, I’m not…please just take me home.”

“Your apartment isn’t safe, I’m sure there are demons there now trying to figure out where you’ve gone,” he says sadly.

“How do you know I’m the one?” you ask defensively, “Maybe you’ve got me mistaken for someone else.”

He smiles a bit, “No, I’m sure it’s you.”

You sigh heavily and sit on the chair nearest you, holding your head in your hands, “This is not how I planned my day…”

You hear a soft chuckle and look up at the man with longer hair, “Sorry,” he says, “That’s just probably the best reaction I’ve heard yet to being told you’re a prophet.”

“How many other people have you had to tell?” you ask, clenching your hands to keep them still.

“Two,” he says, masking his emotions well. You can tell his easy going attitude is genuine, but it’s also a mask.

“This is Sam and Dean Winchester, they’re hunters.”

“Oh, I have friends that hunt.”

“Not quite sweetheart.”

You shudder a bit at the word sweetheart, remembering the demon from earlier. Dean seems to notice.

“Sorry, anyway, we don’t hunt deer. We hunt demons, ghosts, vampires, the like.”

“No, no, no that’s not fair,” you practically whine, “Those aren’t supposed to be real.”

“Bad news, they’re very real,” he says, giving you a sympathetic look despite his abrasive demeanor.

“So now what?” you ask, looking up to the angel again.

“You’ll stay here, and we’ll keep you safe.”

“Fantastic…” you groan.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Sam says gently. You just nod, ready to wake up from this nightmare already.

“Wait, what about everyone at home?” you ask, looking up at Castiel.

“I can’t make any promises,” he says gravely.

“Are they going to hurt them?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says in answer. You shake your head. This is…this isn’t fair. You were supposed to go to work, and then go to bed after spending a few hours online. You weren’t supposed to be almost killed and then endanger everyone you love.

“Hey, once the demons figure out nobody has any information they’ll back off, promise,” Dean says softly. You look up at him and you can tell by his gaze he’s lost enough people to this job that he knows how they work. You’re torn between wanting to run and wanting to hug him. It’s odd and you don’t like it.

“Can I go to sleep?” you ask, needing some form of an escape. Dean nods and stands up, “I’ll show you where you’ll stay.”

For people who had no idea you were arriving they seem pretty well prepared. You wonder if they have people over here often. He leads you down a hallway and to a fairly empty room with sheets and such on the bed.

“Feel free to sleep as long as you like, and we’ll be here if you need anything,” he says, gently patting your shoulder before going back to the library. You lay down after taking your shoes off and fall asleep almost instantly, too drained from the day’s events to worry about anything else, trusting you’ll be safe for now.


	2. Chapter 2

You stretch and look around, frowning as you remember where you are and why. You sit up and rub your eyes before letting your arms fall to your lap in resignation. You smooth your hair down and get up, walking out and padding softly down the hall. You lighten your steps when you reach the library, leaning against the wall to listen.

“Why is there even another prophet? What purpose does it serve?”

“When one prophet dies another is chosen, that’s how it’s always been. I don’t know what she’s supposed to do with her new position.”

“So what do we do with her?”

“Keep her safe.”

“Obviously,” a third voice joins, you don’t know them well enough to decipher who’s talking, “what Dean is asking is, what are we supposed to do while we go after Gadreel and Abaddon?”

“Leave her here if you must, then. She’ll be safe.”

You hear a heavy sigh, “Fine. We’ll do what we can,” he says.

You wait a few moments before walking in, arms crossed over your chest. You lean on the doorframe, feeling a bit awkward with the whole situation. Castiel looks up and smiles at you.

“Did you sleep alright?”

You nod, unsure of what to say to them. His smile fades a bit.

“Do you have any questions?”

“A few…” you say, looking at him, “Can I ever go home?”

He sighs, “Maybe…but not anytime soon and probably not permanently,” he says, giving you a sympathetic look. You nod, looking down.

“So, demons are after me?”

Cas nods, “A prophet could be very valuable to Abaddon, or even Gadreel and Metatron. You’re safest here.”

“Who are they?”

“Knight of Hell, a dickhead angel, and a bigger dickhead angel,” the one with the shorter hair…Dean, you think, tells you.

“Thanks…that doesn’t really help,” you say.

“It’s a long story,” he says, smiling a bit. You smile back despite yourself, vaguely wondering if anyone can not smile back at him.

“Well, apparently I have a lot of time to listen now,” you say, stepping into the room and sitting at the table with them. You can practically feel the tension in the room and it makes you shrink back a bit, wondering if you’re the reason they’re upset. You jump when Castiel lays a hand on your shoulder, but relax easily. Something about him makes you feel better. He smiles at you and you smile back, letting yourself let go a bit. Might as well, since you’re apparently going to be staying here for a while.

“Anyway, we’ve gotta go, got a call from an old friend of ours,” Dean says, standing up.

“Wait, I want to go with you,” you say immediately. They hesitate.

“(Name) this is a hunt, it could be dangerous…” Sam starts before Dean cuts in.

“It’s supposed to be a simple salt and burn, might as well,” he says, nodding to you, “think you can handle it?”

You nod eagerly, terrified of the idea of staying here alone.

“Alright, we’ll get ready, meet us out at the car in fifteen, we’ve gotta go all the way to California and I want to get started as soon as possible.”

You nod and look around before sitting. You don’t have anything here with you. Cas smiles at you softly, “Your things are in the room you slept in, I moved them here for you.”

You get up and walk down the hall, sure enough your clothes and everything are there waiting for you. You pack a quick bag and run out to meet them outside, tossing your bag in the trunk and getting in the back seat.

“So, what’s a salt and burn?”

Sam launches into an explanation as Dean drives, telling you about vengeful spirits and things like that. Dean nods and adds in tidbits of information here and there, and you find yourself fascinated despite yourself. Something about these two make you feel safe, so you don’t get too worried when Sam explains how these kinds of things can go wrong.

“You won’t be in the line of fire though,” Dean says sternly.

“I won’t?” you ask, a bit taken aback that you won’t be helping.

“No, we have a friend up there that you’re going to stay with.”

You can tell by his tone there is no room for argument, so you just nod.

“Who is he?”

“She, and she’s a retired hunter,” he says, as if that explains everything. Sam huffs and shakes his head.

“Her name’s Olivia, and she was injured in a hunt, barely made it out alive, so she doesn’t do anything involving hunting anymore, hence why we were called.”

“What happened?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“She was out with her boyfriend and he got possessed, she had to do what she had to do, but he nearly killed her first,” Sam explains.

“Yeah and don’t ask her about it,” Dean warns you, looking in the rearview.

“I wouldn’t!” you say, a bit offended he thinks so little of your manners and people skills.

Dean just nods and turns back to the road. You frown a bit. He’s really not good at talking, either that or you’ve done something. You decide Cas bringing you into his home with no warning probably touched a nerve, but he hasn’t said anything so…you’ll just stay quiet.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up as Dean pulls into a hotel, getting out to check in. You stretch and get out, helping Sam with the bags and going in when Dean brings you the keys. There’s only two beds, and right as you turn to ask how that’s going to work you hear Dean curse.

“You always pick scissors Dean, it’s your own fault.”

You open your mouth to ask but Sam answers before you can.

“You’re sharing with Dean.”

You close your mouth and nod, not really too thrilled about it. He already doesn’t like you, and you know you talk in your sleep. It’s only eight, so the boys start talking about dinner and you sit down, just watching and listening until Dean asks for your input.

“Do you want to go out or just get something delivered?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you, who else would I be asking?” he asks, his smile taking away the sting of his words a bit.

“Um, I guess go out?”

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, grabbing his jacket and throwing it back on. You and Sam follow him out and you walk to the diner behind the hotel, staying quiet. The boys don’t talk either, but it’s not as heavy as before.

You sit next to Sam at the booth, not wanting to somehow aggravate Dean, and you catch the look they share before they start talking about the case. You have no idea what the look means but you know it has to be something.

After you order Sam excuses himself to the bathroom and you stir your drink with your straw, looking down at the table. You look up when you hear Dean sigh.

“Look…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, looking out the window, “We haven’t had good luck with prophets, and Sam and I are…not exactly in a great place right now.”

You just nod, not really sure how to respond. He sighs again.

“I’ll try to relax if you try to speak up more, deal?” he asks, looking at you and smiling a bit.

“Deal,” you say, returning the smile.

“So, what was your life like before you got here?” he asks.

You talk to him about school, work, anything that comes to mind, Sam joining your conversation seamlessly when he comes back. You all quiet down when your food comes, too hungry to keep talking. You all walk back in a much better mood, Dean holding his newly bought piece of pie protectively. You get back to the hotel and Sam immediately lays down, kicking off his shoes and hugging the pillow.

“Sleeping in your jeans?” you ask, teasing him a bit. He opens one eye and looks up at you before sitting up.

“Good point,” he says, going into the bathroom to change. You wait for him to finish before you go in, changing into pajamas. When you walk out Dean’s already in bed, back to you, wearing a t shirt. You crawl under the covers and curl up, closing your eyes when Sam clicks off the light.

The room slowly gets colder as the night takes over, and you wake up shivering. The heater’s gone out. You pull the blankets tighter around you but can’t stop your body from shaking like a leaf. You’re about to get up to put your jeans back on when you feel Dean shift, turning over and throwing his arm over you. You stiffen up, not sure what to do, when you hear his snores resume. He’s still sleeping, not purposely trying to spoon you.

The problem is, his arm’s huge and heavy, and he’s ridiculously warm. You let yourself scoot a bit closer to him, barely suppressing a squeak when he pulls you flush against him, burying his nose in your neck and mumbling. You hear Sam chuckle and look up through the darkness, seeing him get up to check on the heater.

“He’s a cuddler,” he whispers, “elbow him in the ribs if you want him to stop.”

You nod and watch him fiddle with the heater before he gives up and pulls on another layer of clothes, crawling back between the covers. You close your eyes and let yourself relax against Dean, his breathing lulling you back to sleep. You can only hope he won’t be weirded out by this in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up alone in the bed to the boys talking and getting their stuff together. You pull your phone out from under the pillow and groan. Six am.

“Rise and shine (name), we’ve gotta get on the road,” Dean says, shaking you by your leg. You open one eye and look up at him, brow furrowed in a glare. He chuckles, “You can sleep in the car,” he soothes before picking up his bag and walking outside. You sigh and sit up, stretching and smoothing your hair down. You dig inside your bag for clothes and go into the bathroom to change. You’re comforted by the fact that Dean doesn’t seem weirded out by your accidental cuddling last night, but maybe he had moved away by the time he woke up, who knows.

You walk out and grab your bag, making sure you have everything before going out and getting in the backseat of the Impala. Dean’s checking you guys out, so it’s just you and Sam in the car.

“So,” he says with a grin, looking back at you, “Comfy last night?”

“Shut up…” you say, looking down and blushing. He laughs but lets it go, facing the front again as Dean climbs in, starting up the car and backing out. He puts in a Creedence Clearwater Revival tape and turns it up too loud for conversation, so you amuse yourself by playing games on your phone until you fall asleep again. Road trips are supposed to be fun, but when you’re in a car with two men you just met it’s not as interesting as it should be.

You’re a bit surprised when you sit up and find the weather’s warm and you’re in California, almost to Davis.

“So, what’s our case?” you ask, leaning up and hooking your arms over the front seat, looking between them.

“The case Sam and I are taking on,” Dean corrects you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay fine, your case,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Not totally sure yet, the ghost seems to be killing people randomly, but we’ll figure it out,” Dean says, pulling up to a small house. Two dogs immediately start barking and a girl walks out, limping slightly on a stiff leg. She smiles when she sees Sam and Dean get out, nodding to you before shaking their hands.

“Good to see you two,” she says, voice soft. Her dogs sniff all over you three before lying back down on the porch lazily. You all follow her inside and she sits down with a sigh, stretching her leg out.

“You too Olivia, so what’s going on?” Dean asks, sitting across from her at the table.

“Well, I think I’ve figured out who it is, all you two have to do is take care of the son of a bitch,” she says, handing him an old news article, “His name was Larry Mcfarland. Basically, his wife left him, so he went in and shot the wife and kids, covered the place in gasoline, lit it up and shot himself.”

“But he burned, right?”

“Well, he was cremated.”

“So how can he be attacking people now?” Dean asks.

“Not entirely sure, you’ll have to go check it out.”

“So who’s he targeting?” Sam asks.

“Cremation places mainly, as well as mothers and grandmothers.”

“Because…?” Dean asks for her to elaborate.

“Well, his will that he left in his truck to keep it safe said he wanted to be cremated and buried with his family. His wife’s mother said that wasn’t fair, and didn’t want her daughter and grandchildren buried with a murderer. The judge agreed, and they were buried separately.”

“So he’s pissed his wishes weren’t fulfilled?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I have no idea what still ties him here though, but the address of the house is there,” she says, pointing to the bottom of the paper.

“Great,” Dean says, standing up, “Is it alright if she stays with you? She’s new.”

“Course,” she says, nodding.

“Thanks.”

The boys leave and she turns to you, “So, what’s your story?”

“Well, I used to be normal. School, work, a one bedroom apartment, but then two days ago demons came after me…turns out I’m the next prophet of the lord.”

She nods, “Big responsibility, how are you handling it?”

“I don’t know…I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” you say, sighing.

“Have they taught you how to defend yourself yet?” she asks.

“Defend myself?”

“Can you shoot?”

You shake your head, “No I…I’ve never needed to.”

She stands up, grabbing her keys and favoring her left leg, “Come on.”

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna take you shooting, you’ll be more useful and you’ll be safer if you’re not relying on them to protect you.”

You nod and jump up, following her out to her car. She gets in and waits for you before driving out to the gun range. It’s kind of a ways out, and the car ride is mostly silent except for the radio playing softly between you.

She gets out and leads you inside, talking to the guy behind the counter. They obviously know each other and she leads you into the shooting room. She shows you how to load the pistol before showing you how to aim and shoot. It takes you a few tries, but after about a few hours you feel confident with the pistol, even with moving targets. Your arms are sore from holding them out for an hour and she chuckles as she leads you back to the car.

“It gets easier, and you don’t notice if your arms are sore when there’s a ghost coming at you,” she says, driving you back to her place. She pulls up and you go inside just as you hear the Impala roaring up the driveway. Dean and Sam walk back in, holding a ring.

“Found his object,” Dean says, setting it on the table, “We’ll burn it and head out.”

“You can stay the night if you want, I know it’s a long drive.”

Dean nods, “Thanks, I think we will.”

She nods and turns on the TV, “You’re welcome to any food, and to the beds upstairs. There’s only two, but they’re doubles so you can figure out who shares,” she says, taking a sip from her water. Dean turns to Sam.

“It’s your turn to share, I shared last night.”

Sam chuckles, “Alright, fair enough,” he says, grabbing the ring. You stand up.

“Can I watch you burn it?” you ask quietly.

Sam looks up and nods, leading you out to the backyard. He puts down a circle of salt and puts the ring in the middle of it and sprinkles salt on top of it. He drops a match on top of it and you watch in fascination as the last of the spirit dies, shrieking and turning to ashes.

“Wow,” you breathe out. Sam chuckles and sweeps up the ashes, throwing them away.

“Yeah, luckily this one was pretty simple, most of our work was done for us.”

You nod and follow him back inside, smiling a bit at Dean and Olivia cracking up at the table. You sit on the couch and Sam sits next to you, frowning a bit when he sees how you’re holding your arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re holding your arms weird.”

“Oh…we went shooting,” you tell him. Dean quiets down and turns to Olivia.

“You took her shooting?”

“What else were we gonna do all day? Besides, she should learn how to defend herself. You two can’t watch her every second of every day.”

Dean doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t deny it. She shrugs and stands up.

“Anyway, I’m going to bed, wake me up and say bye before you go,” she says, patting his shoulder and going upstairs. Dean finishes his beer and nods.

“Yeah, me too,” he says softly, following her up.

You sit with Sam on the couch for a bit longer, watching the late show before he yawns and stands up, “Coming?” he asks.

You nod and follow him up, taking your bag with you. You shower and change into pajamas, walking into the room where Sam’s already laying down. You slide in next to him, the double bed not leaving much room for you to leave space between you. He’s already almost asleep, so you just close your eyes and let yourself relax.

You wake up the next morning to soft voices.

“Dean, we don’t have to leave right away, she deserves to sleep in,” you hear Sam say softly, one of his huge hands resting on the middle of your back.

“But the sooner we leave the sooner we get back to the bunker, besides she can sleep in the car.”

“Dean, calm down. Go downstairs and eat, I’m sure she’ll wake up soon anyway.”

You can practically hear Dean roll his eyes, and you do hear him whisper “sap” as he walks away. Sam sighs and lies back down with you, leaving his hand on your back. The warmth is enough to lull you back to sleep, grateful for the rest.


	4. Chapter 4

You wake up a couple hours later to Sam gently shaking you, “Come on (name), we’ve gotta get going. Dean wants to make it to the bunker today.”

You nod and get up, stretching and running a hand through your hair before standing up and grabbing your bag. You decide to just change in the room, so you shut the door and strip. You get your bra and panties on right before Dean opens the door to make sure you’re awake.

“Hey you up-shit! Sorry!” he practically slams the door closed and you can feel your blush spreading over your entire body. You can hear Sam laughing down the hall and quickly get the rest of your clothes on, brushing your hair and shouldering your bag before walking out. You sigh when Sam chuckles, shaking your head and pretending to not be embarrassed. You go outside and put your bag in the trunk, saying good bye to Olivia before getting in the car. The boys join you soon after, Dean smirking at you through the rearview.

“Not funny,” you mumble, crossing your arms.

“Oh come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, besides, you were sort of covered!” he insists, backing out of the space. You roll your eyes, not actually offended. You’re not ashamed of your body, it just caught you off guard. He reaches for the radio but stops as your phone rings. You pull it out and freeze, it’s your boss, you were supposed to be into work four hours ago, and apparently nobody’s noticed you’re missing yet. You can’t blame them, you mostly hang out at home during the week.

“What do I do?” you whisper, looking up at them, heart pounding in your chest, “They’ll call the cops eventually.”

“Let ‘em, you’re safe with us, they won’t come after you or anything. You won’t get in trouble,” Dean tells you. Sam frowns.

“Maybe she doesn’t want everyone worrying about her, Dean. Answer it and come up with a bullshit excuse, or tell him you’re done with your life and you moved out, you’re quitting, bye. I mean, chances are you’ll never go to that job again, so you can burn that bridge.”

Never again… you think to yourself as the call goes to voicemail. Sam catches the look on your face.

“I’m sorry (name)…I know this isn’t fair, but it is what it is, and it’ll be better if you call and offer some kind of explanation so people aren’t worried about you.”

“But if she calls, what if he starts asking people what happened, and then other people start calling her?”

“Change your voicemail to say you’ve ran off and you don’t want to talk to anyone, at least this way they won’t assume you’re dead.”

You nod and call your voicemail, recording a message that says you’ve grown tired of the life you’ve been living, so you’re seeing what else is out there. You’re not coming back, at least not anytime soon, so please treat you as if you’ve moved far away. Good bye. Sam nods at you and Dean rolls his eyes, obviously thinking you should have just ditched the phone, but Sam’s right. You don’t want people to think you’re dead, but if they check your apartment…

“Wait, my apartment’s a mess!”

“Then they’ll ask questions later, by then you’ll have a new phone,” Dean tells you, tone indicating the conversation’s over. You just nod, sitting back in the seat and staring at your phone as the screen lights up again.

After getting four calls from different people you give up. You roll down the window and chuck your phone onto the side of the road, rolling the window back up and sitting back, “There,” you say, “It’s gone now. And if they go looking for me, they’ll just find it in Nevada.”

Dean nods, “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

It wasn’t great either, but this is your life now, so you might as well embrace it. Sam seems to understand though, judging by the look on his face, so you feel a little better knowing someone else has gone through this before, you feel a little less alone.

“So…have you guys had to do that before?” you ask, sitting forward and resting your arms on the seat. Dean shrugs.

“Not really, pretty much all my friends were hunters, so they knew I was hard to reach.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah…I went to college for a couple years, made some friends and had to disappear…but they all got over it, they had each other, it was just a mystery for them. I had to go, so.”

“Why?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Our dad had been missing for a few days, and Dean needed help finding him,” he says, shrugging, “Wouldn’t you go?”

You frown, “Well, yeah, but to be honest with you if my dad went missing I’d just call the police.”

Sam smiles at that, “Yeah well…that wasn’t really an option.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so you sit back, looking out the window. You wish you knew more, but you don’t want to pester them, especially when you’ve only known them for three days now. You’re sure eventually they’ll tell you stuff, if it’s important, at least.

By the time you reach the bunker it’s late, and you’re tired. Dean looks fine though, for the hours of driving he did, and you’re a bit surprised by that.

“I drive a lot,” he says, catching your disbelieving look. You shrug, it makes sense, before grabbing your bag and going inside. You notice Sam goes straight to his room and shuts the door, and you feel bad. You drop your bag in your room and walk over, knocking softly. He opens it with a sigh, expression changing when he sees it’s you.

“Oh…need something?”

“I just…um…I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful? I just…noticed you went straight to your room and…just, I didn’t mean to make things weird or bring up anything sad.”

He smiles a bit, “Thanks but…I just like to be in my room lately. Dean and I…we haven’t been on great terms lately, it’s just easier this way.”

You’re dying to ask why, but you can tell you shouldn’t, “Okay well…good night.”

“Night,” he says softly, closing the door when you turn away. You’re so confused about these two brothers…there’s so much you don’t know yet, and it’s really messing with you. You go into your room and curl up, closing your eyes to go to sleep. It’s a bit harder, now that you have all these thoughts and worries swirling through your mind, but you get there.


	5. Chapter 5

You wake up early and roll out of bed, grabbing some clothes and heading into the hallway, determined to find the shower. You find it fairly quickly, the only room with the open door. You close it and open the shower door, relieved to find it’s a simple shower, easy to control. You twist the knobs for hot and cold until it feels comfortable before you start stripping, just in case it hadn’t heated up. You’d encountered way too many showers that don’t work properly to strip first anymore.

You step inside, moaning softly at the warm pressurized water raining down on you. You grab the soap and squirt a bit in your palm. You’ll smell like a “real man” according to the bottle, but you can live with that for now. You lather it all over your body, rinsing it off and smelling appreciatively. This is nice soap.

You grab the simple Suave shampoo and shrug. It’ll work until you can find something that won’t attempt to strip your hair. You lather and lean your head back, sighing.

You hear the door open and you tense up, opening your eyes, relieved to find the glass is too fogged for anyone to be able to see through it.

“Look, Sam,” Dean says, unzipping his pants, “I know you’re pissed at me, but we’ve gotta figure out what we have a new prophet for.”

“Not Sam,” you say back, closing your eyes again. He can’t see you, so you’re not that concerned.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, “still gotta take a piss though.”

“Gross,” you respond as you hear him relieve himself. He leaves the bathroom shortly after and you rinse out your hair.

“Hold me closer tiny dancer,” you sing softly, “count the headlights on the highway.” You turn off the water and step out, grabbing a towel off the rack and drying yourself off, “Lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today.”

You get dressed and brush your hair, gathering your stuff and walking back to your room to put your bag back. You walk out and down the hall, peeking into any room with an open door to try and familiarize yourself with your new home. You don’t see either of the boys in any of the rooms and you frown, stepping into the huge library.

“Dean? Sam?”

You get no answer and you start to worry a bit before you see the note on the table. You take it and read it.

Went into town for groceries, Sam should be up in an hour or so, make yourself at home. –D

You set the note down and huff a bit. Make yourself at home. That’s…that’s a bit much to ask for, isn’t it? Might as well explore more. You make note of where all the necessary rooms are, such as the kitchen. The huge garage. You find a big metal door and you pull on it with a huff, flipping the switch and flinching when the harsh lights click on.

“Well well, what do we have here?”

You look at the man chained to the table. What the hell!?

“Did they kidnap you!?” you blurt out, heart pumping faster.

The man frowns, “Yes, quite a while ago, in fact,” he says, looking down at the table sadly, “I was starting to think I’d never get out of here.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, stepping into the room. You feel a strong hand on your bicep pulling you back.

“Crowley you dirtbag,” Sam’s voice comes from behind you, “we kidnapped him because he’s the King of Hell.”

“King of Hell?” you squeak, looking up at him. He nods.

“Yes, and he’s a filthy liar,” he says, clicking the lights back off and shutting the door, “you should stay away from him.”

You nod and follow him back to the kitchen obediently, done exploring for the day. He pours a cup of coffee and holds it up in offering, but you shake your head.

“No thanks, so uh, any more kidnap victims I need to know about?” you ask, looking in the cabinets and taking a granola bar.

Sam chuckles softly, “Not that I know of, Dean’s the one you should be asking,” he says with a wink. You smile, sitting down.

“Sam…I was thinking, could I use one of your phones to call my friend? Just to let her know I’m alive and okay? I don’t think I should have tossed my phone out of the car…” you ask softly, refusing to meet his eyes, “I know Dean doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but…”

Sam nods, “Hang on,” he says, digging through a drawer and handing you a phone, “We can destroy that one later, we really can’t have the cops kicking our door down.”

You nod and go to another room, dialing your friend’s number.

“Hello?” she answers with a confused tone.

“Hey,” you say, flinching when she gasps.

“(Name!) Where are you? This isn’t funny!”

“Hey, hey, Emma, calm down, I’m fine. I’m in Kansas, I just…I needed a change,” you say, trying to placate her to no avail.

“No! No, what the fuck (Name)? You can’t just…you can’t just disappear one day! Your apartment is trashed somebody was in there and guess what? They found bodies in it! What the fuck is going on?”

You can tell she’s on the verge of hysteria, “Look, I can’t explain, okay? I can’t tell you, but I wanted to let somebody know that I’m okay.”

“Come home!”

“I can’t!”

“Are you being held against your will?”

“Not exactly?”

“Then come home!”

“Emma! Look, I love you, and I’ll come home if I ever can, but there’s…there’s things happening and I have to stop them first. It’s personal, I’ll tell you when I see you again,” you lie.

She heaves a heavy sigh, “I love you too…you better come home soon.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, “I’ve gotta go.”

You shut the phone and jump when you feel Sam’s hand on your shoulder.

“For the record, I’m sorry,” he tells you, looking down at you.

“It’s okay,” you say, surprised by how it really isn’t okay. He pulls you to his chest as the tears start falling, completely taking you by surprise.

“It’s going to be alright, we’ll protect you. I’ll protect you, you’ll get home,” he says with a fierce determination.

“Sam…what happened to the other prophet?” you ask, looking up at him, hating how your hands shake where they’re gripping the back of his shirt.

“His name was Kevin Tran…an angel killed him,” he says softly, pulling you close again, “It won’t happen to you. I won’t let anyone else die for this,” he vows, tightening his grip on you. You nod, somehow feeling safe in his embrace.

Despite the man chained in the basement.

You hear Dean come in and Sam lets you go with a hand carded through your hair. You close your eyes and lean into it. He smiles and you wipe your eyes before following him into the kitchen.

Dean’s putting groceries away, whistling, blissfully unaware of what just occurred in his absence. It’s probably better that way, he doesn’t seem like the kind to want to deal with your emotions anyway.

You spend most of the day with the boys, watching them research and discuss, trying to figure out what exactly you’re here for. It gets boring pretty quick, so you go back to wandering the bunker. It’s pretty interesting, now that you know not to open heavy metal doors.

Even though you’re a bit curious about the freaking King of Hell.

Maybe one conversation won’t hurt…


	6. Chapter 6

You slide the heavy door open, turning on the light before almost closing it behind you, afraid to close it all the way in case it locks. You turn to look over at the King of Hell, who’s looking at you curiously.

“Hello again,” he says, clearing his throat and motioning to the chair across from him, “have a seat, make yourself at home.”

You glance back at the door before sitting down, making sure he can’t reach you with his chained hands.

“Okay, so you’re the King of Hell?”

“Yes darling I believe we’ve established that,” he snarks. You look down.

“So, what’s Hell like?” you ask, looking back up at him, frowning when he smirks.

“Why don’t you ask the Moose? Or his brother? They had a much more…intimate experience with Hell. I only ran it, you see, I wasn’t tortured.”

“They went to Hell!?”

“Oh dear, they haven’t told you anything, have they?” he asks, smiling. You can tell he’s glad he’s exposed this secret.

“Why are you here, in this basement?”

“Kevin called it a dungeon, I found that more fitting,” he says, avoiding your question at first. He sighs and looks at you, “The Winchesters captured me and attempted to turn me human.”

“It didn’t work?”

“Obviously it didn’t work,” he says, rolling his eyes, “come on darling keep up.”

“I’m not the one chained up here, you should be nice to me,” you protest, raising an eyebrow. You’re not sure why you feel so courageous, but he seems pretty powerless, so he can’t really do anything.

“Ah, I like that. You should stand up for yourself, might keep you alive,” he says, nodding towards the door, “You should get away from them, for the record. Their friends tend to die agonizing, premature deaths.”

“How would you know that?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

“Would you like a list? Take my advice or don’t, but the last prophet didn’t listen to me, and look where he is.”

“Well…I’ll be okay.”

“If you say so…will that be all or would you like to feed me through the bars for your amusement?”

“No…that’s all,” you say, standing up and leaving, clicking the light back off before shutting the door.

Holy shit. Sam and Dean have both been to Hell. They’ve been tortured…but they seem so normal. How do you go to Hell and back, literally, and not lose your mind a little bit?

Or maybe they have lost their minds a little bit, and you just don’t know because you don’t know them.

Maybe they’re psychotic and they’re gonna snap and murder you.

But Sam said an angel killed the last prophet…so shouldn’t the King of Hell be kind of an ally? How many angels could they possibly know personally? Does that mean God exists? Satan? Which bible has it right?

“I need a drink,” you mutter, jumping as you hear Crowley laugh behind you. You shake your head and go back to the kitchen. Two grown men living by themselves, there’s gotta be some whiskey in here somewhere.

“Well hello there beautiful,” you mutter as you find a nearly full bottle of Jack. In front of an unopened bottle of Jack.

“Kidnappers, alcoholics, what’s next?” you ask yourself, climbing up on the counter to look through the cupboards. No shot glasses, who has two bottles of whiskey and no shot glasses?

“What are you doing?”

You jump and have to grab the cupboard handle to steady yourself at Dean’s sudden voice.

“Jesus! When did you get there?”

“Just now, what are you looking for, shorty?”

“Shut up,” you say quietly, looking back in the cupboard. You’ve gotten the distinct feeling Dean is against emotions, and being flooded with them to the point where you’re going to drink to forget about it, you figure just finding a glass and getting out of here is the best bet.

“Alright well I need in there too,” he says, looking up at you, “you’ve got 15 seconds.”

“What?” you ask in mock indignation, settling on a tall glass. You’ll just guess proportions. You start to climb down but you can’t find a foothold, and you’re not going to just jump down. That’s suicide.

“Hey!” you feel Dean grab you around the waist and gently lower you the next few inches to the ground, “Oh, thanks.”

He snorts and grabs his own glass, reaching for the whiskey cupboard but pausing when he sees it on the counter. He frowns a bit.

“That bad huh?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Oh…well…kinda,” you say with a shrug. He nods.

“Well, care to drink together?” he asks, opening the bottle, the thick smell of whiskey reaching your nose.

“Sure, it’s a bit less sad that way,” you say with a smile, holding out your glass.

“How much?”

“Four shots worth.”

“Go big or go home,” he says, dumping about four shots worth into your glass. It’s a lot of whiskey. It’s going to taste disgusting.

“Soda’s in the fridge,” he says with a smile at the look you give your glass, “I won’t judge you for drinking your whiskey like a girl.”

“Hey!” you protest for the second time this hour, tipping the alcohol down your throat, letting your head fall back. It burns as it slides down, and it tastes awful, but you manage. You scrunch up your nose and shake your head, making a face, but he chuckles.

“Look at that, you can handle your alcohol,” he says, pouring his own drink, knocking it back.

“Damn right I can handle my alcohol,” you reply, leaning back against the counter, waiting for it to hit you. Considering you haven’t eaten yet, it shouldn’t be too long.

Two pm and you’re already getting wasted. That’s the way to live.

You open the fridge and pull out sandwich stuff, figuring you should eat, already feeling light headed.

Dean leans back and watches you, just kind of observing. Normally you’d feel incredibly awkward at that, but it doesn’t bother you now. You make your sandwich and put everything back before taking a bite.

“Mmmm fuck yeah,” you moan. It’s possibly the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your life. Dean actually laughs at that.

“Maybe you can’t handle your alcohol,” he says with a chuckle.

“Shut up,” you say, eating your sandwich like it’s your last meal. He straightens up and goes to leave. You quickly move to follow him, grabbing his forearm to steady yourself just as Sam walks up.

“Did you get her drunk?”

“She got herself drunk,” Dean protests. He leads you to his room, leaving the door wide open so Sam doesn’t get any ideas. He sits down and turns on his new TV, flicking through channels on the guide.

You flop down on his bed, letting your head loll to the side as you look up at him.

“So. How’d you get into the Scooby Doo business?” you ask. He looks down at you with a raised brow.

“The Scooby Doo business?”

“Monster hunting, ghost busting, you know,” you elaborate, waving your hand.

“My dad got us into it,” he says with a shrug, looking back to the TV, “it just kinda stuck.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you…he…why not a normal job?”

“Our mom was killed by a demon when we were both pretty young, and my dad never got over it.”

“Oh…” you say softly, “I’m so sorry.”

You think about your own mother, probably frantic and freaking out, wondering where you are or if you’re okay.

“’S alright, I still miss her sometimes, but I was four, and Sam was so young he doesn’t even remember her, so it’s not…it could be worse.”

You look up at him, “Do you always do that?” you ask, voice slurred.

“Do what?” he asks, looking down at you again.

“Make it out like shit wasn’t hard when it was,” you say, waving your hand again.

“I didn’t do that,” he says dismissively, looking back to the TV and picking the food network. You look back up and smile.

“Aw I love this show,” you say softly, letting the television distract you for a little while. You eventually stretch out and lay on his bed, nuzzling into his pillow. He just lets you, watching Chopped. You reach up and take his hand, resting it on your head and sighing.

“Why am I holding your head?” he asks.

“Pet me,” you respond, not opening your eyes. He snorts but does so, gently stroking your hair until you fall back asleep.

“She’s gonna have a hell of a headache,” he says to himself, smiling and continuing to pet you.


	7. Chapter 7

You wake up in Dean’s bed and stretch, moaning and gripping your head, immediately curling into a ball. Your head is pounding like there’s a million tiny men with hammers in it. At least your current living situation is Heaven compared to this headache.

You force yourself into a sitting position, holding your hand over your eyes to shield them from the light. You make it to the kitchen and take a glass down, nearly throwing up when you smell the whiskey from your previous glass. You fill it with tap water, way too desperate for it to wait to get water out of the filter. You gulp the water down, filling it again and sipping the next glass down slower, trying to rehydrate.

“Headache?” Dean asks. You cringe.

“Yes, quiet please,” you whisper, looking up at him miserably.

He grabs a bottle of Ibuprofen and hands it to you, leaning against the counter as you swallow down the pills greedily.

“That bad?” he asks, much softer.

“I’m not a big drinker,” you respond, filling up your third glass of water.

“I could tell,” he chuckles, “do you feel better?”

“Actually, yeah, a little,” you say, looking up at him.

He nods, “Good,” he says, smiling.

You smile back weakly, looking down.

“So what made you suddenly decide to get wasted?”

“I talked to Crowley.”

“What!?”

“Ow!” you protest, glaring at him and holding your head.

“What do you mean you talked to Crowley?”

“Lower your voice or I’m knocking you out,” you snarl, “I mean I got curious and bored and I talked to the King of Hell.”

“What did he say?”

“I doubt you’ll want to talk about it…” you say softly, looking up at him.

“What did he say?” he asks again, more firm this time.

“He told me you and your brother have been to Hell.”

He immediately turns away, “You’re right, I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, voice clipped.

“Figured,” you say, drinking your water again. You can tell you’ve touched a nerve, which sucks, because you were finally starting to think Dean likes you, or at least can tolerate you.

“I didn’t mean to bring anything up that you didn’t want to talk about,” you say softly, “that’s just what he told me.”

“You shouldn’t talk to Crowley, and you shouldn’t stick your nose in the past. Not good for you,” he says, straightening up and leaving the kitchen. You sigh and look down, feeling horrible. Obviously you shouldn’t have done those things, but you didn’t mean to. How could you have known they’d been to Hell? You didn’t know Crowley would drop that kind of bomb on you.

Sam comes into the kitchen next, giving you a sympathetic look, “Headache?”

You just nod, not willing to hand over any more information in case he acts like Dean did.

“So, what did you say to Dean to rile him up? Not that it takes much these days, but out of curiosity,” he asks, looking at you curiously.

You slump, knowing in about thirty seconds both brothers are going to hate you, “I told him I talked to Crowley earlier and he told me you two had gone to Hell, and he got angry. Which, I mean, he totally had a right to, it was out of line-”

“No it wasn’t. Anyone would be curious about the King of Hell, and Crowley will jump at any chance to make our lives harder,” he says gently, rubbing your back, “don’t worry about Dean. He’ll get over it.”

You look up at him, “Can I ask what happened?” you ask timidly, looking away again, feeling kind of like you did when you first got here. Shy and introverted.

“Dean sold his soul to save me a long time ago, Cas brought him back,” he gives you the very much abridged version, “and I jumped in with the Devil to save the world.”

You look up at him, “How can you say that so casually?”

He chuckles, “It isn’t the worst we’ve gone through.”

“What!?” you ask, immediately grabbing your temple.

He smiles, “Trust me, we’ve been through more than our fair share. Jumping in Hell was an easy decision to make compared to everyone else,” he says softly.

You don’t know what possesses you to do it, but you turn and wrap your arms around him. His life sounds terrible and you’re so sorry he’s had to go through it. He hugs you back softly.

“It’s okay, we’ve worked through it, more or less,” he tells you.

“Sam I’m sorry…” you whisper. He chuckles again.

“Don’t be, really, we’re okay.”

You nod, stepping back, feeling a bit awkward at that emotional display. He smiles at you again and you turn back to your water, looking down at it.

“I’m gonna go apologize to him,” you say. Sam shrugs.

“If you want to.”

You nod and go to Dean’s room, knocking softly.

“Yeah?”

You walk in, “I just…um…wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean…I didn’t want to snoop, I didn’t know. So, I’m sorry,” you tell him, avoiding his gaze.

He sighs, “I know you didn’t mean it that way, it’s just hard to be reminded sometimes, especially when…well things have been hard lately,” he tells you.

You nod, “I know…I mean, I don’t know, but it should have been obvious that would have been a sensitive topic,” you say, looking up at him, relieved to find his eyes are soft. He smiles.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’ll try to be better about that.”

You nod, “Thanks,” you say softly, turning and leaving. You go to the library and sit down with some books, headache already ebbing away. You need to learn about these things, because you need to survive.

You won’t go the way of the old prophet, and you won’t let this wild, crazy, hunter’s life suck you in and take you down. You’re not going to Hell, you’re not going to die.


	8. Chapter 8

You read until your eyes hurt, and then read a little more, cramming as much information into your brain as you can. Thank God for college, or you have no idea if you’d be able to absorb this, much less understand the complicated language that the books use.

You jump when Sam grabs your shoulder. You look up at him and he smiles.

"I’m glad you’re eager to learn, but you need to eat," he says kindly, setting a plate next to you with some pasta on it, "and you need to take a break," he adds, moving the books away.

"But I want to know what I’m doing," you protest. He sighs and sits across from you.

"I know, but you won’t learn it all in one day."

You nod and eat, filling the silence with awkward small talk. You feel a lot better after you’ve eaten, and you look up at him.

"I want to know how to fight," you say.

"Hand to hand?" Sam asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You nod, “Olivia taught me how to shoot, with a pistol anyway, but I’ll be useless if my gun gets taken away.”

Sam frowns, “You don’t need to know how to do all that, you won’t be coming out with us,” he says.

“Sam, come on, I don’t even know what I’m here to do yet, or why I’m the next prophet or whatever, and I need to know how to protect myself if anything happens,” you argue, “please?”

He looks like he’s chewing on his tongue before he nods, “Alright, fine. Go change into something you don’t mind getting dirty and sweaty,” he says, standing up.

You jump up eagerly, going to your room and changing. You put on a sports bra, an old t shirt, and some well-fitting sweatpants. Things you can move in but won’t be upset about if they get ripped. You meet him back in the library, forcing yourself not to stare at him in his wife beater and basketball shorts.

He leads you into a huge room further back in the bunker. There are all kinds of weapons, as well as protective clothing. He puts on gloves and tosses you a pair, “You want knee pads too?” he asks.

You shake your head, “No, I won’t have knee pads out there.”

He nods and walks to the center of the room. You follow and stand across from him, unsure of what to do. He walks forward to you and gives you instructions.

“Bend your knees a bit, arms up, protect your face, not so stiff you don’t want any broken bones,” he gently maneuvers you as he talks, kicking your feet apart a bit more. You curse as your palms begin to sweat. He’s so close…

“Okay,” he stands across from you again, “Come at me.”

“Now!?” you ask incredulously, “How?”

“However you want, I won’t hurt you,” he promises, crouching a bit.

He’s a giant even crouched low. How the hell are you supposed to just come at him? You try to think about what you’ve seen in movies and lunge forward, trying to catch him in the stomach and knock the breath out of him.

You underestimated how brick wall like he would be. He takes a small step back and grabs your shoulders, flipping you around. In seconds he has his arm around your neck and you know you’ve lost.

“You’re not big enough to overpower me,” he tells you, voice dangerously close to your ear, “brute force won’t work.”

He lets you go and you turn to face him again, frowning and a bit flustered. You try to figure out how to do this. You know there’s weak points, the neck, the smaller joints, but how are you going to take him down?

You don’t even want to know offensive moves, you just need to know how to not die, but Sam thinks this is the best way to teach you, and he knows better than you. You lunge forward again, but this time you stay tall. You wrap your arms around his neck and try to bring him down to your height, but you end up just kind of hanging onto him.

“This isn’t working,” you grumble, letting go, blushing when you realize you were so close.

He smiles, “Think, if you knew you had seconds to overpower me before I was going to grab you, what would you go for? You can’t bring me down, it won’t work. I’m too big, and I’m stronger than you. What weaknesses do I have?” he asks you.

“Your dick?” you ask without thinking, eyes widening at your crude language.

He chuckles a bit, “That would work, if you can move fast enough to hit me there, but you probably don’t want to get in that close, since if you miss I could just grab you.”

You frown and think harder, “Maybe I shouldn’t come at you?” you suggest, “I might have more luck if I have your momentum on my side.”

He nods, smile widening, “Exactly. What you want to do if you know I’m going to come at you, is to prepare yourself. I won’t hurt you, but be ready, and react how you think is best. And don’t worry, I have a cup,” he winks at you. You get back in position, trying to watch his body language to know how he’ll come at you.

He moves fast, and before you can even get out of the way he’s got you around the waist, underneath him on the ground, catching both of you on his forearms. You aren’t hurt, but you’re stunned.

“Dead,” he says in your ear before getting off of you. No kidding, you can barely breathe.

“You’ll get better at judging body language, but for now don’t overthink it. Just get out of the way, or trip me up so you can get away,” he instructs, getting low again.

You nod and pull yourself together, bending your knees and bringing your hands up. You wait for him to move, and this time you step to the side, bringing your elbow down over his back. He falls to his hands and knees and you take a few steps back, as if you’d run off.

“Good,” he says, standing up and smiling, face bright. You smile, proud of yourself for reacting the right way.

You’re about to say something else when your arms are forced behind your back and Dean’s voice is in your ear, “That would work if you were already fighting, but what if you’re trapped?”

You shiver involuntarily and think. Your arms are hooked back and useless, and you can feel how strong Dean is, even if he’s not using his strength against you. You stomp on his instep and pull hard, trying to break free. He hisses but doesn’t let go and you stop to think again.

You can feel his breathing close to your neck and you get an idea, “What if I threw my head back really hard?”

He pauses for a moment, “I think that would work. At the very least, you could break their nose and they’d probably let go,” he says, letting you go and stepping back. Your arms are a bit tingly, but they seem alright otherwise. He smiles at Sam, “Don’t let him fool you, I’ve taught him everything he knows.”

Sam rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed at Dean’s sudden entrance, “Well, if you’ve got it covered,” he says, starting to leave. Dean sighs and you frown, trying to figure out what’s wrong with these two. Sam seems like he hates having Dean around, but you don’t know why.

You practice with Dean for about an hour before you’re too tired to learn anymore, bruises all over your knees and elbows, but you feel good about it. You know how to get away, and that’s what’s important.

“Just never stand still,” he tells you, eyes dark as if remembering something tragic, “If anyone puts their hands on you when you’re not expecting it, move, just get away from them.”

You nod, “Okay,” you say softly. You follow him back down the hall, unsure of what you should do now. You decide to leave him be, he looks kind of sad, and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t want you around to comfort him. You find Sam in the library and sit across from him again.

“Sam…” you start, looking down at the table. He looks up at you through his lashes, head still turned mostly downward. It’s a bit intimidating.

“Um…I was wondering…and you don’t have to answer,” you stutter, glancing up before staring at the table again, “but you and Dean are brothers, right?”

He nods, confused as to why he wouldn’t want to answer that.

“But you seem…well you don’t seem to like him very much,” you say, blushing as the words tumble out of your mouth in a rush.

You hear him sigh and he closes his book, looking up at you, “Dean lost my trust, and he hasn’t really tried to get it back. He thinks he did the right thing and won’t attempt to listen to my side. I don’t know…” he sighs again, “I don’t know if I should tell you what all happened, yet.”

You nod, “Okay, that’s fine, I mean I don’t want to pry or anything.”

He nods and you stand up awkwardly, leaving the library. Now you’re not sure what to do. What time is it even? There’s no windows so you can’t gauge by sunlight, and you don’t have a phone anymore. Oh well, you’re pretty tired, you figure you could just go for a nap either way.

You pass an empty bedroom and see a book on the bed. You walk into the room curiously and pick up the battered notebook.

It’s simple looking with a clasp on the front. You open it and look inside. The initials H.W. are on the inside cover, and you turn the page again to read.

“November 6, 1983 

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week, we were a normal family… eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… when I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

Mary used to write in these books she kept by the bed. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me… I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they’re gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she’s right, maybe it will help me to remember, to understand.”

Your eyes widen. Dean…baby Sammy…who wrote this? You sit down and continue reading.

“November 13, 1983 

Nothing makes any sense anymore… my wife is gone, my sons are without their mother… the things I saw that night. I remember hearing Mary scream, and I ran, but then… everything was calm, for just a second – Sammy was fine – and I was sure I h ad been hearing things – too many horror movies too late at night. But then there was the blood, and when I looked up, my wife….

Half our house is gone, even though the fire burned for only a few hours. Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe – the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had… all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

I want my wife back. Oh God, I want her back…”

Their mother died in a house fire…blood. What did the writer see when he looked up? You have to assume this is Sam and Dean’s father who’s writing this from what he’s said. You hear noises and jump, slamming the book shut. You listen, and when you don’t hear anything else you open it up, reading the next entry.

“November 17, 1983 

We’re staying. Mike and Kate, they’re helping me take care of the boys. They keep telling me they’re sorry, and that the fire was probably just a terrible accident… faulty wiring maybe. It doesn’t make me feel any better to think that faulty wiring took Mary. It doesn’t explain why she was on the ceiling, but what do I tell people? I tried to tell Mike, what I think… what I think happened that night. He just looked at me, this look… like he’s sure I’m crazy. He must have told Kate something too. Out of nowhere she said this morning, I should think about seeing a shrink. How can I talk to a stranger about this? I never saw a shrink for everything I went through in the Marines, and I got through that. My friends think I’m going insane. Who knows, maybe I am…”

On the ceiling? How can someone be on the ceiling? People thought he was crazy…maybe he was a hunter like Sam and Dean? But then why wouldn’t he know what took his wife? His wife…he seems to have really loved her. Somehow you think the boys wouldn’t want you reading this, maybe it’s too private, but you can’t ask them what happened…you skip forward a bit, curious.

“January 1, 1984 

Today a new year begins. Mary loved this time of year; she loved the idea of a fresh start for everyone. She always made a resolution, one a year, and unlike most people, she kept hers. And every year she tried to talk me into making one, but I could never see the point. I wish I could have seen her diary. Maybe it would help me remember her. Maybe it would clue me in to some over her secrets. Maybe that’s the point of a diary. Keep your stories, your life, from dying. So that other people don’t forget.

God I wish the boys could have known Mary for longer.

This year I’m making a resolution. I’m going to find out what happened to my wife.”

How old were they when they lost their mother? This must be how they got into hunting, their father got them into it. How can you hunt and raise two young boys? This doesn’t seem like a lifestyle for children. You flip back and read the pages you skipped. It’s heartbreaking. This man loved his wife more than anything, maybe even more than his sons, and she was just lost, in the blink of an eye, with no answers. Within months he’s losing his mind, you can see it clearly in his handwriting. You flip through the pages further in, diagrams of monsters and newspaper clippings jumping out at you, along with the occasional personal entry. The personal entries get fewer and far between the further in you go, and you wonder if he lost his humanity the same way.

You pause. Should you read the other personal entries? You saw Sam and Dean’s names more than once, and it’s one thing to read the account of a dead man about other dead men, but to read a father’s words about his living sons? That seems personal. You’re only assuming he’s dead, but since he isn’t here, and they don’t talk about him…

Maybe you should just ask? What would they say? They’re both in a pretty sour mood right now…maybe you’ll wait. You put the book in the nightstand next to the bed, you’ll come back for it later. After your nap, maybe when they’re not in the bunker…


	9. Chapter 9

You’ve nearly read the whole journal. Devoured it in a matter of days, and your heart aches for the two men who inhabit the bunker with you.

Dean learned how to shoot a gun when he was eight. _Eight._ You were catching butterflies and running around with your friends at eight, and Dean was shooting tin cans. And not even because he wanted to, but his father was preparing him.

And then the way he talks about them…he loved them so much, but he loved Mary so much more. He’s a little insane, you think. Like he’s…possessed by her love. It’s a little unnatural, but definitely the stuff of romance movies.

You feel bad, but you also think you start to understand the man behind the words. John is horrible at taking care of the boys, but he’s not a horrible father. He tried and did what he thought was right. The neglect though…you feel a bit of anger towards him as well. The farther into the journal you go the less he talks about his children, and the more he talks about the demon that ripped his family apart.

“It wasn’t just the demon, John,” you whisper out loud in your room, flipping the page. Sure, losing Mary started it, but if he would have just let it go he could have raised the boys on his own just fine. But something kept him from doing it. He loved her more, you’re pretty sure it’s that simple.

You jump as you hear a knock at the door, shoving the journal under a pillow, “Yeah?”

“Come eat,” Dean calls through your door to you. Dean. Dropped out of high school and got his GED so he could help hunt. Learned how to shoot at eight. John’s soldier. Suddenly you’re not all that hungry.

You go down to the dining room anyway, feeling worse when you see Sam. The baby of the family, John was always so concerned for his safety…and he ran away. He left them for college. Why did he come back? The journal doesn’t really say…

You sit down and thank Dean when he hands you a plate, getting a soft “you’re welcome” in return. The tension in the room is so thick you could probably cut it with the blade on the shelf behind you, and you look between them sadly. They’re all they had growing up, why are they so detached now?

“You okay?” Sam asks you, jerking you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you reply, smiling and taking a bite.

“You’ve been holed up in your room a lot lately, doing anything interesting?” Dean asks, making a stab at conversation.

“Just reading,” you say, shrugging.

“Reading about what?” Sam asks.

Shit. Quick, think of something, “Shtrigas.”

You see Dean tense up slightly and you curse yourself. Shit! Why did you pick the most traumatic monster to talk about? Jesus…

 “Oh yeah, why?” Sam asks, dispersing the new tension.

You shrug, “Just what sounded interesting today, I’ve been reading on other monsters too, just today I read about those,” you say as casually as you can, taking another bite. You have to get out of here, they’re getting too nosy.

“What other monsters?” Dean asks.

“Wendigos, phantom travelers,” you answer off the top of your head. Sam and Dean shoot each other a look and you tense, going back to your food. Hurry up and eat, hurry up and eat, you think, taking a sip of water.

“Any particular reason they struck your fancy?” Sam asks you.

You shrug again, palms sweating against your silverware, “First monsters in the library that I saw, is all,” you say, mumbling a bit.

Dean gets up and you glance up at him, watching him walk down the hallway. Shit, don’t panic, probably just going to the bathroom, he’ll be back in a bit.

He walks back in with the journal in hand, flipping through the pages, “Well, well, little miss nosy,” he says, walking down to the table.

You swallow hard, setting your silverware down, mouth dry. Before you can start apologizing, Sam takes the journal and smiles.

“Haven’t looked through this thing in a while,” he says as Dean gives you a hard look.

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, cracking under pressure, “It was just in one of the empty rooms and I got curious so I started reading it and I didn’t realize what it was at first but I realized pretty quickly and I kept reading it because I was really curious and there was useful info about monsters too so it wasn’t _really_ intrusive but it actually was and I’m sorry please don’t hate me-“

“(Name)! Breathe,” Sam says, taking your hand in his and oh wow if _that_ was supposed to make you calm down he’s really screwed it up.

“We’re not mad,” Dean says, sitting back down, “I just would have appreciated it if you’d asked first.”

You nod, squeezing Sam’s hand to let him know you’re okay. He squeezes back before he lets go, setting the journal down next to you.

“I finished it today…” you say sheepishly, sliding it back to Dean, who just nods and leaves it on the table.

Cas appears behind you, making you jump violently at the sound of wings. The boys look used to it, so you guess the angel just kind of pops up whenever he wants to.

“I have information about (Name)’s responsibilities,” he announces. You look up eagerly, missing the tense look on both boy’s faces.

“What?” you ask, looking up at Castiel.

“I believe you may be the new messenger for God,” he answers vaguely.

“Aren’t all prophets messengers for God?” you ask, confused.

“Yes, but he hasn’t spoken in many years now, we believe he will speak to us through you,” he explains.

“What does that mean?”

“We’re not sure yet, just be on the lookout for signs,” he says, flying off again. You turn to the Winchesters, surprised to see they don’t look happy about this.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Dean shakes his head, “Nothing, just thinking,” he answers. They take their plates back to the kitchen and you follow with your own. Dean claps you on the shoulder, which might be the most affection he’s shown you since you got wasted that day, and Sam gives you a soft smile before they leave you alone. At least they’re going off together, maybe their relationship isn’t so helpless after all.

You go sit in the library, picking up another book. You open it and jump when a note flutters out. You’re sure it wasn’t there before, so you pick it up off the floor and read it, frowning at what must be your first message.

_Save them._


	10. Chapter 10

“Save them?” you whisper softly, confused, “Save who?”

You’re pretty sure it means the boys, but Cas said God might talk to the angels through you, so maybe it was save the angels? Or maybe someone at home?

“Cryptic bastard,” you mutter, pocketing the note. You figure you might as well see if you can find any clues, so you head to Dean’s room, knocking on the door frame.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking up at you. You shrug, walking into the room.

“Bored,” you reply, sitting on his bed, spotting the journal on the nightstand, “I’m sorry, I mean that was really personal.”

He shrugs, “I would have told you the rest if you’d asked.”

“The rest?”

“I told you about my mom already, remember?”

You tilt your head, “You did?”

“You were wasted,” Dean says with a chuckle. You wrack your brain and gasp.

“Oh shit, you did tell me,” you smile a bit when you remember, glad he really isn’t mad at your intrusion on his privacy.

He smiles back at you and leans back, patting the bed next to him, “Here, we can find something to watch,” he offers to curb your boredom.

You scoot up on the bed, leaving about a foot of space between you and crossing your ankles. He settles on some sitcom, making a comment about the great cable reception despite being underground. You watch the show with him for a while before you remember you were trying to figure out how to “save them.”

“So, can I ask a question,” you ask, looking over at him. He nods in your direction, still watching the TV.

“It’s about you and Sam,” you say, watching him for a reaction, “what’s going on with you two? He kind of told me, but didn’t go into detail…”

Dean sighs and mutes the TV before turning to you, “He was dying, and I did what I had to do.”

“What did you have to do?” you ask, leaning forward unconsciously, dying to know.

“I kept him alive,” he answers, sitting back and crossing his arms.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you press.

“I let an angel possess him, I tricked him into it and let him ride shotgun to heal him,” he confesses, jaw tight.

“But…did he not want to be saved?”

He looks away, whole body tense as a bow string, “No. He wanted to die,” he spits out, “and he thinks I should have let him, because he would have let me.”

You look down, frowning, “Surely he didn’t say it like that?”

“He didn’t say that exactly, but it’s what he meant,” he grumbles.

He looks so _broken_ by that. He’s taken on the appearance of someone desperate to hold it all in. You feel so bad for him, you don’t even think before you move closer and rise to your knees, hugging him. He’s big, and very solid, but you don’t relent, squeezing around his shoulders. He exhales deeply, reaching up and patting your arm in acknowledgment.

You let go slowly, realizing he isn’t going to relax in your embrace, but you can tell he needed the gesture anyway. You sit back against the headboard again, a bit sad you can’t really help him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, looking back to the TV, “you don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t,” you say, looking up at him, “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

He nods, unmuting the TV. You excuse yourself, going to find Sam. This has gotta be it, this drove a wedge between them and they need to fix it. You knock on his door, walking in when he answers you.

“Sam, I need to ask you something.”

“Sure (Name), what is it?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Did you really tell Dean you’d have let him die?”

He rolls his eyes, “No, he didn’t listen to me. Again.”

“Well…what did you say?” you ask, shutting the door behind you and walking over to the bed.

“I said I wouldn’t do the same for him, but I meant I wouldn’t go against his wishes to keep him alive for myself,” he explains, shaking his head, “but of course he took it the wrong way.”

“Did you explain it to him?” you ask.

“No, he’s a big boy, he could figure it out.”

You can tell Sam is more than done talking about this, so you just nod, say okay, and leave.

You sit in the library and drum your fingers on the table.

“That didn’t work,” you sigh, looking up towards the ceiling. Maybe you should call Cas and ask him what this could mean? After all, maybe he’ll have a hint or can interpret how God speaks.

You decide to go somewhere the boys won’t hear you talking to the angel, somehow you don’t want them to know about the note. You go down to where the dungeon is, going to another empty room.

“Hey Castiel, um, I think God talked to me, but I don’t know how to interpret it?” you say out loud, feeling stupid.

You hear the flap of wings signaling the angel’s arrival behind you, but before you can turn around he’s grabbed you by your arm and flown off with you again. You land, grateful for his arm holding you up when you see all the people around you. You grip his trench coat as he pulls away, not letting him leave your side.

“(Name), we need to know what he said to you,” Cas explains.

“I’m not…I don’t know what he meant,” you say, pulling out the note and handing it to him.

He reads it, frowning, “I’m not sure either…” he says, handing the note off to another person. They all read it and you realize these must be more angels, but they seem…different than Cas. You don’t like it.

They start discussing what it could mean, not even mentioning the Winchesters, and you have a feeling that’s only because they assume God would only speak about them. And maybe they’re right, you have no idea what God wants. You sit down on a nearby chair when you realize they’ve began ignoring you and you would probably be here a while.

Luckily they don’t argue too terribly long, still unsure of what the note could possibly mean. The other angels start dispersing and Cas turns back to you.

“Do you have any ideas?” he asks you as the last angel flies off.

“I thought it might have meant Sam and Dean, since they aren’t doing so great with each other? Or maybe you guys, or the world,” you shrug, “It could technically be anyone I guess.”

He nods, grabbing your bicep and flying you back. Sam comes sprinting into the room you land in, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

“There you…Cas what the hell!?” he rounds on the angel, bringing Dean running into the room as well.

“She was with Cas?” he asks.

“Yes!”

“Was I not supposed to be?” you ask, looking up at them, a little bewildered.

“You’ve been missing for an hour,” Dean says, crossing his arms, “Crowley said he heard you talking to someone earlier and then silence,” he glares at the angel, “you could have let us know.”

“I did not think it was a problem,” Cas says, letting your arm go and stepping away.

“It’s a problem Cas,” Sam tells him, most of the anger out of him now that he sees you’re safe.

“I see that,” he says, nodding to them, “I’ll be sure to let you know next time.”

Before they can say anything else, he’s disappeared. They both turn to you.

“Where did you go with him?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know, there were other angels, we were talking about what God could mean,” you say without thinking.

“Could mean about what?” Sam asks, looking down at you. Wow, he’s intimidating when he’s this close and standing straight. Like, really tall.

“Just…in general, why he could have chosen me,” you bluff, holding eye contact. He looks unsure, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Well don’t take off without telling us again,” Dean says firmly.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know he was going to just take off with me.”

He nods, “Still, at least let us know you’re going to call him from now on, he’s not very good at impulse control.”

You nod, “I will, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you guys,” you apologize, feeling bad when you remember they lost their last prophet recently. Or at least, you think it was recently, since they don’t seem over it yet.

Dean nods, “It’s alright,” he says. Sam nods and they both leave. You sit down, no closer to knowing what the note means, no closer to saving anyone, and really confused about the dynamic between the brothers and you.


	11. Chapter 11

You’re bored. So freaking bored it should be illegal, at least you’re pretty sure it should be. You stand up and walk into the kitchen, frowning at the cabinets and the refrigerator, not actually wanting anything in there.

“Fuck it,” you go to your room and put on some shorts and tennis shoes, pulling on a more comfortable shirt and walking to the library where the boys are, “I’m going out.”

“What, whoa,” Sam actually stands up at the news, “Where are you going?”

“Into town, I’m bored, and I’m going stir crazy in here.”

“But what if there’s someone in town looking for you?” he asks.

“Give me a gun then.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “Just give you a gun?”

“Sure, I’ve been practicing,” you inform him. It’s true, you have, and you’re pretty good now that you’ve had nothing else to occupy your time with.

“At least let us drive you in, I need to hit the bookstore anyway,” Sam says. No he doesn’t, he just did that a week ago, but as long as they’re accommodating your need to get out of the bunker, you can live with it. Dean nods and stands up as Sam goes to get his shoes.

“Yeah, I need to go to the liquor store,” he says, walking past you. That one you can believe, the way he drinks. You walk out to the garage, getting in the car and waiting. The boys join you pretty quickly and Dean opens the garage door before driving out, pressing the button to close it as he drives towards town.

He parks in a public lot and hands you a twenty, “Be back here in two hours,” he tells you. You glare at him, resenting being treated like a child, but you take the money and nod, heading into town.

You dip into a few stores, buying some candy to snack on and otherwise just browsing among the various stores.

You jump as a boy grabs your arm. He looks terrified, panting hard, pupils dilated.

“Excuse me?” you say as he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you in fear.

“They’re going to kill me,” he tells you, voice shaking.

“Who?” you ask, instantly concerned.

He looks up as the door chimes, letting go of you and sprinting away.

“Wait!” you take off after him, worried and beyond confused.

He’s too fast for you, probably fueled by fear and adrenaline. You stop and catch your breath, leaning forward and bracing yourself on your knees.

You walk back to the car, still worried but with no idea where he could have gone you’re not sure how you could help if you could. You walk up to Sam, who’s already sitting in the car, and lean in the window.

“Sam, a boy grabbed my arm and told me someone was going to kill him,” you tell him.

“What?” he gets out of the car, barely giving you time to move out of the way before he swings it open.

“I don’t know where he went, he took off,” you say, shifting anxiously.

Dean walks up right about then, pointing over his shoulder, “Cops got a hold of some crazy kid, shouting about someone killing him.”

“Is he okay?” you ask, stepping forward.

“Yeah, just psychotic,” he answers, getting in the car.

You get in the backseat, a bit reassured with Dean’s confidence, but Sam still looks concerned. You settle in the backseat, at the very least feeling much better now that you’ve gotten out of the bunker for a few hours.

You get out once you pull into the garage, going to your room and watching the new TV Dean set up for you, eventually falling asleep, finally satisfied because you went into town.

You wake up two hours later with a gasp, holding your chest. You’d dreamed you fell off of a cliff to your death, and your heart was still pounding. You flick on your light, suddenly extremely aware of the darkness pressing in around you.

You shake your head and get out of bed, heading to the kitchen for a drink, but you find yourself turning on all the lights as you go. You frown as your neck starts to hurt, throat burning a bit. You rub your neck and the pain goes away, but you’re still freaked that it hurt at all.

You take your drink, a bit unsure because you don’t know Kansas’ laws regarding tap water, and go back to bed. You have to fall asleep with the light on, and you just wake up a few hours later from another nightmare, this time about a tree falling on you.

You walk to the kitchen again, nearly jumping out of your skin when Dean bumps against you on his way in. You notice your neck itching and start scratching at it, keeping your distance from him, kind of terrified of everything around you. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, frowning when you start scratching your neck again.

“Let me see that,” he says, stepping closer. You step back, crashing into the counter in your haste to get away. His eyes widen in understanding and he walks out, calling for Sam.

Sam walks into the kitchen with him and sighs, “Yeah, it does look like ghost sickness,” he says, getting a closer look at your neck despite your protests.

“I’ll go see if I can find who the buruburu could be…” Dean says with a sigh, going to the library to get Sam’s computer.

Sam nods at Dean and keeps you close, monitoring your reactions to stimuli. He doesn’t seem pleased by your progress, which makes you feel worse. You’ve noticed the boys have been careful not to touch you, and you think back to that boy from yesterday.

“Do you think I’m next?” you ask quietly, looking up at Sam.

“Next?”

“Well that boy said he was going to be killed…” you explain, wringing your hands.

Dean sighs, “No, you’re going to be fine,” he assures you.

“How can you know!?”

“I’ve had ghost sickness before, you’ll be alright,” he says.

You’re not at all reassured, but you sit down, mostly because moving comes with hazards, like tripping or falling.

“Alright, you stay here, we’ll be back in an hour and you should be better,” Dean tells you, patting your shoulder and leaving with Sam.

Oh God. You’re alone, alone with a chained up demon and an angel that will pop up at random times. Yeah, totally secure and not in danger at all.

You can’t just stay seated, it makes you feel vulnerable. You walk around the bunker, tiptoeing and peeking around corners, just expecting someone to pop up and kill you. You’re not even sure where the boys went.

Maybe they’re leaving for good.

Maybe they’re going to come back and kill you.

“Oh God,” you whisper, shaking, scratching your neck, and trying to keep from breaking down.

You lose track of time, but at one point the fear lifts away and your neck stops itching. You walk back towards the front of the bunker when the boys come back in.

“Feel better?” Dean asks you.

You nod, “Yeah…how did you know what to do?”

He shrugs, “I was already looking into a murder that happened around here a few years ago, it just made sense it would be the girl that was killed by her friend.”

You nod, “Well…either way, thank you,” you tell him. He nods.

“You’re welcome, glad you didn’t have a heart attack and die,” he says with a soft smile. You smile back, a bit warm and fuzzy inside from that look. Sam just walks past you into the library, not saying anything. Dean sighs and pats your back, “Don’t worry about him, he’s just in a mood,” he assures you.

“I see that,” you say back, looking up at him. You’re close, so freaking close, and God he’s pretty.

“Well, better go tune up the car,” he says abruptly, patting your shoulder and walking away, hurrying into the garage. You blink, surprised and confused by what just happened. You were thinking about kissing him, you were about to do it, and he stopped you. And yet…you’re not convinced he left because he doesn’t like you, but maybe he doesn’t want to get too close?

“Men,” you mutter, going to the shooting range.


	12. Chapter 12

The fire was getting closer.

You couldn’t move, your arms and legs were pinned to the wall. The wall…no…you were looking down.

You were pinned to the ceiling.

You screamed for help as the flames licked against your skin, burning all of your nerves in a white hot, searing, unbearable pain. You screamed again but no sound came out.

You saw Sam on the bed, and Dean run into the room and yell, dragging Sam out of the room, that’s when it all went black.

~

You sit up with a yell, grabbing your chest and gasping for air. Sam busts through your door, making you jump and grab your face, covering it.

“(Name)! What’s wrong?” he asks, moving to your bed, “What happened?”

You move your hands, hating how bad they’re shaking, “Nightmare,” you choke out, looking up at him, noting that your face feels wet, “Really bad nightmare.”

He pulls you in to his chest and you hide gratefully. He’s warm, but not like the fire, not burning.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was…” you jerk violently as you remember that’s how their mother died. Pinned to the ceiling by a demon, burned alive, “Oh God,” you whisper, clinging to him.

“Shh, okay, okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” he tells you, rocking you softly. He looks up to Dean, who’s leaning in the doorway watching.

You calm down after a few minutes, clinging to Sam’s shirt and hiding against him.

“I was on the ceiling…” you whisper, feeling him tense up underneath you. You hear Dean shift and sigh through his nose.

“That demon is dead,” Sam responds, rubbing your back, “He’s gone, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“I know but…it felt so real. I felt the fire,” you say, curling up tighter, grateful for his arms around you.

“We’re not gonna let anything happen to you,” Dean says, sitting next to you two on the bed, placing his hand on your back, “I promise, that won’t happen to you.”

You nod, pulling back and wiping your eyes, “Thanks…sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam says, looking down at you, “It’s okay, really.”

You nod again, “Okay…I’m gonna go shower,” you say, smiling weakly at them as you get up and walk to the bathroom.

You take a cold shower, still too afraid to take a hot one. When you get out you feel a lot better, the nightmare mostly forgotten.

Luckily the boys don’t ask you about it again, and you spend the day quietly in the library reading. You stand up and head to the kitchen to get water, stopping when Dean grabs your wrist.

“You okay?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah…” you nod, “You?”

He nods and you continue to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water and sipping it in the kitchen.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now Dean! Go!”

You drop your glass and look around. Where the hell did that voice come from?

“Mary! No!”

“(Name)? Hello, can you hear me?”

You grab onto Dean’s arms when he grabs your shoulders.

“Dean…” you’re gasping for air again, and he looks more than concerned.

“Cas!”

The angel flies in with a swish of feathers. He cocks his head and steps forward.

“You’re seeing memories that aren’t your own.”

“The nightmare wasn’t a memory,” you correct.

“It was a memory from Jessica,” he says, stepping forward. You see Sam stiffen at the name.

You shake your head, “I don’t want this, Cas, I don’t want this, please.”

“There’s nothing I can do. You have to do what God is telling you to do.”

“I don’t know what God’s telling me to do!” you yell, stepping forward, “He’s being cryptic and giving me peoples’ most painful memories, and I’m not okay with it!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, resting his hand on your shoulder, “this is bigger than you.”

He flies off and you feel your hands shaking. You’re so angry, angrier than you’ve ever been in your life.

Sam’s walking away. He’s leaving, good riddance. Dean looks upset, but any son who’s willing to walk out on his family isn’t a son you want.

“Let him go Dean, he’ll be fine,” you growl, sitting on the hotel bed.

“Yes sir,” he whispers, even though he’s staring at the door.

“Dean!” you bark, standing up.

He cowers, and while you feel bad…it’s also satisfying. At least you have one loyal kid.

You come to again leaning over the sink retching.

“Make it stop, please, make it stop,” you groan, clenching the counter.

Sam leaves the room for a few moments, coming back with two pills, “Swallow these, you’ll sleep.”

You take them gratefully, dry swallowing before another flashback overtakes you.

Sam’s above you, moving oddly, sweating, he’s younger, happy…

You moan and arch your back, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

“Fuck, Sam, please, right there, right there,” you pant, moving your hand between you to rub your clit, other hand scratching down his back.

He works his arm under you, holding you closer as he thrusts, “Fuck, yeah baby come on, wanna feel you come around me,” he growls, biting your neck.

You scream as you come, muscles clenching around him, eyes rolling up into your head. He crushes you against his body as he comes into the condom, whispering your name.

No, not your name.

Jess.

You manage to vomit into the sink before it all goes black again.


	13. Chapter 13

When you wake up the first thing you notice is there’s someone spooning you. It’s nice, and somehow feels familiar, you like it. You look over your shoulder to see who it is and frown a bit. You don’t recognize this man, at all.

No…wait. You do recognize him. Well, _you_ don’t, but you’ve realized by now this isn’t you. You’re in another memory. You can only hope this one isn’t horrible.

He shifts and opens his eyes, smiling at you as he leans in for a kiss, “Morning,” he whispers, running his hand down and resting over your stomach. With a jolt you realize you’re pregnant.

“Morning,” you smile back, letting the memory take over while you try to get over the fact that you have a baby inside you.

“No morning sickness today,” he notes, nuzzling your neck, so full of love and affection you don’t know how he’s doing it.

“Nope, he’s decided to stay calm this morning,” you answer, closing your eyes and soaking it up.

“He’s getting so big,” the man notes, rubbing your belly, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Won’t be too long now, just you wait,” you say, sitting up and going to the bathroom. You pause and look yourself over in the mirror. Taking in all the different features. You nod and go back out to your husband, kissing him softly. He smiles and kisses you back, leaning his head against your belly.

“Oh he’s moving,” he says, excited, “gonna be an athlete I bet. Dean the football star,” he chuckles, kissing your stomach.

~

You wake up for real this time, tangled and sweating in your blankets. You gasp, looking around the dark room for something to assure you that this time, it’s real.

“How is this helping?” you groan, covering your face. You don’t want to see these peoples’ happy memories. You know how they end, and it hurts. You feel their joy, and then you wake up and remember they’re all dead.

Wait…they’re all dead. So far, you’ve only seen memories from deceased people. That’s a clue.

And they’re all somehow related to Sam and Dean, so there’s another one.

You just have to figure out what these memories are trying to tell you, and then you can figure out what to do next.

And to do that, you’re gonna have to talk to the boys about them.

You sigh and get out of bed, walking into the kitchen, looking at the microwave for the time. 2:20am.

“Shit,” you whisper, getting a drink. You won’t get to talk to them tonight.

Maybe you’re gonna die a horrible tragic death, maybe that’s what the dreams are about. As soon as you have the thought your gut twists, but not in a bad way. Just in a “no, that’s not it” kind of way.

“Okay, so I’ll live,” you sit down, trying to concentrate.

So far you’ve only had memories from Jess, John, and Mary. Jess and Mary both died the same way, and were both heavily involved with a Winchester before they died. You’re not one hundred percent sure how John died, the boys tend to gloss over that when you talk, but you know he became a hunter after his wife was killed. You know Sam went back to hunting because Jess was killed. Maybe it’s something to do with Sam and John? You haven’t seen anything related to Dean yet. You wait for a gut feeling, but it doesn’t come, so you have no idea if you’re on the right track or not.

Why do they need a prophet right now anyway? The old one died, and that’s about all you know about it. Sure, Cas said you were the messenger, and you got that note, but that doesn’t help you at all.

“Okay God, give me a message,” you say sarcastically, looking up at the roof. You blink in surprise when you see a folded up piece of notebook paper wedged in the corner. You climb up on the table and grab it, turning on the light above the stove to read it.

“Fix. Mend.”

“You aren’t helpful,” you growl, sitting back down. Okay. Save them, and Fix and Mend. You’re about 99% sure he means the brothers now. Maybe you should talk to Sam about his relationship with John?

It makes sense anyway.

You forget it’s nearly three in the morning and walk down to Sam’s room, opening the door slowly. He’s sleeping. That…makes a lot of sense.

You’re about to leave but something stops you. Your gut again. Okay, so, don’t leave. You take a few steps inside and the negative feelings subsides. Okay, you shut the door and feel your way to his bed in the dark. This is weird, and you’re pretty sure he’s gonna punch you for this, but you crawl in beside him, trying not to be too tense.

He stays asleep, laying on his back, taking over basically the whole mattress. Somehow there’s space for you to scoot in, and you wonder if God made Sam sleep this way, because there’s a perfect spot for you up against his side. You get comfortable, on your side against him, and he reacts instantly. He pulls his arm in, pulling you flush against him, turning to face you. He tangles your legs together, wrapping his other arm around your back and nosing against your neck.

“Are you awake?” you whisper, surprised when he doesn’t answer. So he just turns into an octopus in his sleep, cool.

Well. This was a very productive talk. You settle in, hoping for some kind of epiphany to tell you what you’re supposed to do next, but instead you just feel warm and cozy and start falling asleep.

You wake up again a few hours later when Sam shifts, slowly waking up. Oh shit, how are you supposed to explain this? I don’t know, God told me to do it man.

You’re prepared for him to push you away, or freak out a bit, but instead you hear him chuckle softly before pulling you closer. Oh man, that isn’t what you were expecting at all, and the rush that comes with it was definitely uncalled for. You get a good feeling in your gut, and you’re vaguely reminded of that scene in Harry Potter where he takes liquid luck. Just follow the feelings.

“I had another dream,” you say softly, nuzzling against his neck.

“You could have woken me up,” he says, rubbing your back.

“This worked out just fine,” you say back, smiling a bit, “It was Mary, again.”

“What happened?” he asks, holding you close.

“I was her, and we were pregnant with Dean, and your dad was there, and he was so happy…it was pleasant,” you tell him.

“Well at least it wasn’t another nightmare,” he says.

“Yeah, what happened with you and your dad? He was so different in the dream compared to what I read in the journal…” you ask.

He sighs, “He…he wasn’t a bad guy. He just went crazy after mom died, he left us alone a lot, Dean had to take care of me, and we got in a lot of fights. He put the job first, and that hurt, I hated seeing how he would yell at Dean, or how he consistently cared more about his guns than us. So, I worked hard in school so I could go to college, and I got accepted to Stanford. Most parents would have been proud,” he says bitterly, shifting a bit, “but he was pissed. Told me if I left I might as well never come back, so that’s what I did.”

“That’s awful,” you say softly, “were you mad at Dean?”

He sighs, “At first, yeah. I thought he should have stood up for me, but I get it. Dad raised him wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dean’s sense of self comes from others, he was raised to look out for me, and to be a good soldier for dad,” he explains, “he never got to be his own person.”

“Which is why he couldn’t let you go,” you say softly, the pieces clicking together in your head.

“Probably, but he shouldn’t have lied to me,” he says, tensing up.

“No, you’re right, I know,” you quickly soothe, “but I get it now. You’re all he has left, without you, what is he?”

“That isn’t healthy,” he points out.

“But did he have a choice?” you ask.

He sighs, “No, but he’s an adult now. He needs to see his flaws and work on them.”

You nod in agreement. That much is definitely true. You expect your gut to tell you to get the hell out of there and talk to Dean, but the opposite happens, you’re suddenly very content to stay here in Sam’s arms. You nuzzle into his neck and he smiles.

“You’re awfully cuddly today,” he says, pulling you closer.

“You aren’t complaining,” you point out, sighing softly.

“No, can’t say I am,” he answers, pulling back to look at you. He leans down and you realize he’s about to kiss you about the time his lips touch yours. You react on instinct, kissing him back and letting him pull you close. Your gut doesn’t seem to have anything to say on the subject, so you just let it happen naturally, kissing him for a bit and then nuzzling his neck again. You know you have to talk to Dean too.

This is about to get complicated, and you’re starting to realize you don’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. Your job is to fix these two, and if you get thrown out in the process, you’re pretty sure God doesn’t care.

That’s the first time you really question your new role, and wonder if there’s a way to change it.


	14. Chapter 14

You lay with Sam a little while longer, both enjoying the cuddling and feeling horrible for enjoying it.

“Sam,” you say softly, pulling back enough to look at him.

“Hm?” he looks down at you, rubbing your back.

“I don’t know if…this,” you motion between you, “will be a good idea. Not, not because I’m not into you,” you quickly add when his face falls, “but just…I don’t know if I’ll have a happy ending. You know?”

His jaw tenses, “You’re not going to get hurt,” he says firmly.

“No I mean, probably not,” you half-agree, “but…I don’t think God cares if I make it, as long as I do my job. I don’t know if I’ll have a purpose after I finish what he wants me to do.”

“Then don’t do it,” he says, pulling you close again, “then don’t do what he wants. You don’t have to die for this.”

You can hear the pain in his voice. You can tell he’s still raw from losing their last prophet, and you can tell he cares about you. Selfishly, you enjoy that, but you also hate yourself for it. Now that God is pretty actively controlling your movements, you know this can’t end well for everybody.

“I have to,” you answer, kissing his neck to comfort him, “he chose me.”

“I don’t care. Don’t do it,” he repeats, tightening his grip, as if he’s trying to protect you from God.

You don’t argue any more, letting him hold you. It feels good, at least, and if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re scared. You’re not a robot, you’re not just a slave, you don’t _want_ to die for this. You just can’t see another way. You can’t go home, you can’t hide here for the rest of your life, so how else could this end? You’re here to fix the brothers, and you’re slowly starting to think the way to do that is to become a common enemy between them.

You’re going to have to manipulate them, and you hate yourself for it.

Dying for the cause would be easier.

You’ve grown to care about both of them, and you don’t want to hurt either of them, and you can barely stand the idea that they’ll hate you when all is said is done.

After a while you finally pull away, letting him kiss you one more time.

“Please, don’t do this to yourself,” he pleads, arm still tight around your waist.

“I can’t promise anything,” you whisper, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to get out of bed.

You walk back to your room and shut the door, pulling yourself together. You want to cry, both for hurting Sam and for what’s going to ultimately be your death.

This is a lot heavier than you ever thought it would get.

You force yourself to pull it together, you still have to talk to Dean, and then you can gauge where to go next.

You walk down to his room and listen to see if he’s up. You don’t hear movement, so you push the door open and close it quietly behind you. He’s indeed asleep, laying on his side, reaching out over the edge of his bed. You smile softly, walking around and crawling into bed behind him.

He takes a while to wake up, and you end up falling asleep curled up against his back. You wake up alone in his bed. Shit. That’s not how the plan was gonna go.

You get out of bed and quietly walk to the kitchen, where you can hear them talking.

“She thinks she has to die for this,” Sam says, sounding obviously worried.

“For what though? What does she think is gonna kill her? We’re not taking her out with us,” Dean says, obviously confused, “and why would she come crawl in bed with me?”

“She was looking for information from me, I think. She asked about me and dad, and then me and you. She said she had another dream,” he tells him, leaving out the cuddles and the kisses.

“Did she just get in bed with you too?” Dean asks, still stuck on that fact. You hear Sam sigh and can practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Dean, she just got in bed with me. I don’t think that’s the most important part here.”

“But it could be, what else would she think would be something bad around here?”

Oh man, they’re onto you. Should you pack up? Call Cas?

“She’s asked me a few times about why we’re fighting,” Sam says softly, thinking.

“Yeah me too…” Dean agrees. You can hear him step closer to you, away from Sam.

You step in the kitchen before you can even think about it, spurred on by another gut feeling. Those are really getting annoying.

“You two need to talk about this,” you say, blocking Dean’s escape, letting God use you as a mouthpiece.

“About what?” Dean asks, looking at you, “I think we should talk about how you’ve been-“

“No. This isn’t about me. This is about you two,” you point at them, “you’re brothers, and you love each other, and this is a stupid fight that you’re letting distract you from everything else. And you’re using me as a scapegoat.”

“What?” Sam says, shaking his head.

“Come on, you’ve gone on one hunt since I got here, and you don’t talk to each other about anything. You need to put your big man feelings aside and talk to each other.”

Dean shakes his head and turns to leave, and you step in front of him, hands on his chest, “No, I’m serious. We’re doing this right now.”

“What was your plan?” Dean asks, obviously trying to derail you.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’m flying blind here, going by what feels right. And this feels right, you two need to talk about this, because it’s all a big misunderstanding, and there’s no reason not to talk about it.”

“Talk to Sam then, he’s the one that said he’d let me die,” Dean growls, pushing to leave again.

“Are you kidding me?” Sam straightens up, “You completely misunderstood what I said. I didn’t mean I’d let you die, I meant I wouldn’t go against what you wanted to do!”

“How could you expect me to just let you die?” Dean rounds on him, letting you shrink back out of the way, “After that night in the church?”

“Because I wanted to! You should have let me,” he says, straightening to his full height.

“So would you rather be dead?”

“No! I just want you to respect _my_ decisions about _my_ life! I’m tired of everything being about what you want!”

Dean looks stunned, “Do you really think it’s like that?”

“Dean, it _is_ like that. You talked me out of finishing the trials, and you let an angel possess me so I wouldn’t die. I killed Kevin because you were reckless!”

“That isn’t on you Sam, dammit, that’s on me!”

“You don’t see yourself burning his eyes out in your sleep,” Sam growls, getting in his space.

“You’re not getting it! I can’t…if you die, what do I have left?”

“You have _you!_ Make something to live for, stop hunting, get a job, get a girlfriend-“

“Like you did when I went to Purgatory?” he snarls, voice accusatory.

“What was I supposed to do? There wasn’t even a body, I assumed you were gone. How was I supposed to know you were trapped somewhere?” Sam says, shaking his head, “Do you think I was glad you were gone?”

“You sure acted like it.”

“No, Dean. I wasn’t glad. Every time I got in the car, I had to think about you. About how you were just…gone. I didn’t get to say good bye, I didn’t get a chance to help you, all I could hope was that you were up in Heaven, having a beer and enjoying your best memories. Before I could get up there and mess them up again.”

Dean blinks, the fight draining out of his body, “So you see where I was coming from? I could stop it, I could help-“

“No!” Sam turns to him again, “You’re not getting it! You _knew_ I wanted out! You knew I was done, and you purposely undermined what I wanted!”

“I couldn’t just let you die, Sam, I’m sorry!” Dean says, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, okay? I mean, I’m not, because you’re here, and that’s more important than anything to me, but I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry you can’t trust me. I’m sorry I went against you and made a bad call.”

Sam finally deflates, taking a few breaths before answering, “Thank you. I don’t want to be dead now, you know. I’m not suicidal or anything. And I definitely don’t want you dead either, I just…I want you to respect me. That’s all.”

You breathe a heavy sigh, relieved. They figured it out without you having to hurt them. They both look at you and you shrink back, not at all ready to deal with the consequences of what you did. Even if God made you do it.

“We need to talk to you too,” Dean says.


	15. Prophet Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who will Reader decide to go with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on there will be two separate chapters for each update. Evens (16, 18, 20) will be Sam. Odds will be Dean. They will be posted at the same time.

“It’s not all my fault,” you protest, putting your hands up and stepping back, “God made me do it!”

Dean rolls his eyes, “I think we need to figure out more than just what made you do it, (Name). We need to talk about what you’re going to be doing from here on as well.”

“She’s not coming with us,” Sam says firmly.

“Sam, we can’t just leave her here by herself.”

“The bunker’s the safest place for her!”

“Until someone finds it. Look, we have to find Abbadon-“

“Abbadon? We need to find Gadreel!”

You let them argue, sitting down and waiting. At least they’re not kicking you out.

“Fine, you get Gadreel, and I’ll go get queen bitch,” Dean shrugs, turning to you, “Okay, that means we’re splitting up. You need to decide, queen bitch, or crazy angel?”

“Neither of those sound very fun…” you say nervously.

“We’ll keep you safe, and whoever you go with, we’ll make Cas your personal bodyguard,” Sam promises.

“Okay, I’m gonna go with-“


	16. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader goes with Sam

“Sam.”

Dean nods, looking a bit put off, but he doesn’t say anything. Sam, on the other hand, looks ecstatic, even if he is a bit worried about your safety.

“Okay, well, we should get ready and head out then,” he says, walking past you, patting your shoulder as you go.

“Get ready? For what?” you mutter, going to your room and packing a bag. Clothes, shoes, personal hygiene. Condoms. Hopefully he doesn’t find those ones.

You grab a pistol and extra bullets from downstairs, grabbing a shotgun as well. What hurts angels? The devil? You shrug, going back upstairs and packing the guns before meeting Sam in the garage.

“Ready?”

“As ready as I can be,” you say, getting in the newer Dodge he has in the garage, “Nice car.”

“Dean doesn’t think so,” he chuckles, pulling out of the garage.

“Well, Dean’s stuck in the 60’s,” you say, smiling at him. Being around Sam makes you giddy, you can’t help but be excited when he’s around. He’s so sweet, but so powerful. Like a mastiff, or a lab. Maybe more like a lab.

“So, who’s Gadreel?” you ask softly.

He grimaces, “Yeah, I guess you need some background huh,” he sighs, settling his hands on the wheel. “Okay, so, Gadreel is an angel. He’s the one that let Lucifer into the Garden of Eden, and he’s a huge asshole. He’s the angel Dean let possess me to keep me alive, because he thought he was another angel, Ezekiel. Ezekiel was someone Cas trusted, so Dean let him in, but we found out, or rather, he found out, that it was someone different when Gadreel killed Kevin. Kevin was our other prophet,” he tells you, giving you a worried look.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Sam,” you quietly assure him.

He nods and continues, “Anyway, I guess he took off in my body and Dean had to track him down with Cas and Crowley.”

“King of Hell Crowley?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He cut my anti-possession tattoo and sent Crowley into my head so I could kick Gadreel out. I didn’t realize I’d been possessed…I was living inside my head.”

He looks haunted at the thought and you can’t help but take his hand, gently reassuring him. He smiles at you.

“It was almost worse than demonic possession, not realizing that things were different. He’d constructed it so well…anyway, I kicked him out and now I guess he’s hooked up with Metatron, the angel that caused all the others to fall from Heaven.”

“The angels fell!?”

He nods, “Yeah, the angels are fallen, heaven’s locked up.”

“That’s horrible…” you say softly, shaking your head.

“Well, I want to take them both out, so that’s our plan.”

“What can kill an angel?”

He points towards the trunk, “Angel blades. That’s about it.”

“So we have to get in close?”

“I do. Not you, I’m not…I didn’t want to leave you alone, but I don’t want you on front line either.”

“You can’t expect me not to help.”

“You can help! Just behind the scenes,” he says, glancing at you, “We’ve lost two prophets. And Kevin was like a little brother.”

You want to protest further, but he looks so sad that you can’t, so you just nod. You’ll bring it up later.

“Do we know where we’re going?” you ask instead.

“Sort of, I have to make a few phone calls, but I know we’re going in the right direction, so I figured we could cover some ground before I have to make them.”

You nod, sitting back in the seat and enjoying the ride, looking out the window.

When the sun starts to go down he pulls into a seedy looking motel, getting out and waiting for you. He’s obviously not willing to leave you alone when out in the open, which could make this difficult. Then again, last time you went off by yourself you got ghost sickness. Not your fault.

He leads you inside and gets a room before leading you back out to get your stuff. You carry your own bag in, you’re not _that_ helpless, and set it down on one of the beds. You’re a bit disappointed, since you can’t think of any excuse to sleep in his bed, but you’re too nervous to say anything about it.

He looks up at you, “You hungry? I was figuring we’d grab some dinner then crash,” he says, shrugging his sweater off.

“Yeah, that works for me,” you say, nodding.

He nods again and you go back out to the car, driving down to a nearby restaurant and eating with him. You talk to him about the angels and the demons, getting more information, hoping the patrons around you aren’t too freaked out by your topic of conversation.

When you go back to the motel you’re both exhausted. You change into pajamas in the bathroom and go back out to your room, collapsing on the bed and moving under the covers. He clicks off the light and you both drift off to sleep.

You wake up and look around, confused. Is this the same room? The colors are slightly off…

You get up and stretch, frowning when you see there’s only one bed. Definitely not the same room, so then whose room is it? You turn around and scream, covering your face when a disgusting, disfigured corpse swings a blade at you.

You wake up with a gasp, grabbing your chest and swallowing lungfuls of air, “Fuck…” you breathe, running a hand through your hair, sighing.

“You okay?” Sam asks out of the dark, making you jump.

“Yeah…yeah, just a nightmare,” you tell him, nodding, glancing at the clock. It’s only 2am, you can’t be up yet, but you don’t see how you’ll fall back asleep now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, sitting up.

“It was just a zombie…just scared me,” you shrug, looking down. You hear him shift around, but look up when you feel your bed dip.

“Zombies are pretty scary,” he says sympathetically, rubbing your back, “can you go back to sleep?”

“Maybe? I don’t know, my heart’s pretty rapid…” you tell him, leaning into his hand.

“I’ll stay with you, keep you safe,” he promises softly. You look up at him and barely suppress an embarrassing squeak when he kisses you again. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, but you’re really into him, and wow this feels good.

“Okay?” he asks as he pulls back.

“More than okay,” you breathe, smiling when he chuckles. He lays down and pulls you down next to him, throwing the covers over the two of you and stroking your hair. You’re not sure when exactly you fall asleep, but you wake up the next morning with him spooned behind you, breathing softly against your neck. This is something you could get used to.


	17. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader goes with Dean.

“Dean.”

Sam looks upset for a moment, before he quickly masks it. Dean grins and claps you on the shoulder.

“Hope you’re ready for an adventure,” he tells you, “let’s pack up.”

You nod and go to your room, letting yourself enjoy the excitement/nervousness settling in your belly. You have to admit, you’re looking forward to spending time alone with the older hunter.

You pack up anything you think you might need, clothes, personal hygiene, condoms. You know, just in case. You’re not _planning_ for anything, you’re just being prepared. You go downstairs and grab a pistol and a shotgun, as well as extra ammo for both, putting everything in the trunk and getting in the Impala.

Dean slides in next to you, putting his seatbelt on and turning the car on, smiling with satisfaction as she roars to life in the garage.

“That’s my girl,” he says, patting her dashboard affectionately before pulling out of the garage, setting off down the road.

“So, who’s Abaddon?” you ask, looking up at him.

“She’s the worst person to ever exist,” he tells you, glancing over before continuing, “She’s a knight of Hell, and there isn’t much we can do to kill her. We had her at one point, but she escaped. She’s trying to take over Hell and then take over everything else. Heaven, Earth, all of it.”

“So…what exactly can we do about it?”

“Not much, but I’m sure we can find out. There has to be a way to stop her.”

You nod, a bit apprehensive now that you know there isn’t much of a plan. Who could possibly know how to kill a Knight of Hell? Maybe Crowley would know? But you left him behind at the bunker…

Eventually Dean turns the radio on and you lose yourself in the classic rock coming through the speakers, trusting Dean to be experienced and knowledgeable enough to think of a plan before it’s too late. Maybe you shouldn’t, but oh well.

He turns the radio off and starts calling people as he drives, obviously trying to get information, but he doesn’t seem to be having much luck. You can tell he’s getting frustrated, but you don’t say anything, looking out the window and listening quietly instead.

After a few hours of driving he gives up, pulling off into a town and finding a motel, “Might as well make camp, at least until I can figure out our next step, don’t want to drive too far out and then realize we have to turn around.”

You nod in agreement, getting out and waiting for him to come back with a room key.

“All they had was a king, so try not to thrash around too much,” he says, tossing you a key. You nod, grabbing your bag and walking inside, setting your bag on the bed and stretching.

“So now what?” you ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, that’s my side,” he says, pushing your bag over and replacing the spot with his, “and I’m not sure. For now I’m waiting on a few call backs, so we can just hang out here.”

You nod, digging through your bag and grabbing your wallet, “Well, I saw a vending machine down the hall, I’m gonna get a soda, you want one?”

He shakes his head, “I’ll get something later, thanks.”

You nod and pocket the room key, as well as a couple bills, walking down the concrete walkway to the vending and ice machines. You feed a dollar to the machine, huffing and groaning when it spits it back out at you. As you straighten it along the edge of the machine, you freeze when you hear footsteps approaching. Probably just another hotel guest needing something to drink, but still, living with the Winchesters has made you beyond paranoid.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the middle aged man, “Sorry, wouldn’t take my dollar,” you explain quickly, feeding the dollar to the machine again. It spits it out again and you roll your eyes, trying the other bill you brought with you. Finally, the machine takes it and you sigh in relief, pressing the button and taking the can when it pops out. You turn to leave and find the man mere inches away from you.

“Um…hi?” you say, tensing up and shrinking back against the soda machine.

“You’re very pretty,” he says softly, reaching up, hand hovering close to your face.

“Th…thanks,” you stammer, trying to move away again, biting your lip when he moves to block your path. You can’t tell who or what this guy is. Just a creepy human? Some kind of monster? God, you have so much more to consider when you’re in danger now.

He grabs you by your neck and you react instinctively, kneeing him in the groin and slamming your elbow down over his head, running back down the hall. You fumble with the room key, dropping it like the damsel you feel like. You crouch to pick it up and yelp as the man catches up to you, grabbing you by your hair and slamming you into the wall.

Dean opens the door the next instant, wrestling him off of you and punching him in the face. He tosses holy water on him and growls when the man’s eyes flash black, skin sizzling from the water. He continues fighting him away from you.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,”_ you start, staying back and flinching as the demon turns his black eyes on you. Dean keeps him back and you keep reciting the exorcism you forced yourself to learn, grateful for your obsessive learning spree now.

When you finish the demon vanishes in a cloud of black smoke, leaving behind a very grateful man. Dean nods and pats him on the shoulder, quickly sending him on his way and taking you back inside.

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking you over for injuries.

“I’m fine, what about you?” you ask, gently touching his jaw, where a bright purple bruise is quickly forming.

“I’m fine,” he nods, smiling down at you, “That was awesome.”

“What?”

“I mean, not that you got attacked, but your exorcism was perfect, and you were able to figure out what to do, that’s really great,” he says, still smiling.

“Oh uh…I guess, thanks?” you say, still unsure about how awesome the situation really is, even though you’re internally glowing from the praise.

He chuckles, grabbing his phone as it rings, answering it and turning away to talk. You sit on the bed, waiting patiently to find out your next move.

He sighs as he hangs up the phone, looking up at you, “Alright, we’ll spend the night here since it’s already paid for, but we have to go back.”

“For what?”

“We need to get Crowley.”


End file.
